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BY THE 



KEY. j/t. HEADLEY. 



NEW YOEK: 
JOHN S. TAYLOR, 

143 NASSAU STREET. 

MONTREAL:~R. W. LAY. 
1853. 



3 '=11'^ 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by 
JOHN S. TAYLOR, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 

New York. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
Biographical Sketch, ...... 6 

CHAPTER I. 
My First and Last Chamois Hunt, . . . . 11 

CHAPTER XL 
Rambles th;rofgh Pajris, ...... 26 

chapter hi. 

Eambles about Paris, 41 

CHAPTER IV. 
Eambles about Paris, 57 

CHAPTER V. 

Eambles about Paris, 71 

CHAPTER VI. 
Eambles about Paris, 85 

CHAPTER VII. 

Out or Paris — Oter the Channel to England, . 109 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Eambles in London, 122 

CHAPTER IX. 
Eambles about London, 135 

CHAPTER X. 

Eambles about London, 146 

(ui) 



IV CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XL 

Page 

Rambles about London, . . • . . . 157 

CHAPTER XIL 
Rambles in England, 165 

CHAPTER XIIL 

Rambles in England, 174 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Rambles in England, 182 

CHAPTER XV. 
Rambxes in Wales, 190 

CHAPTER XVI. 
Waterloo, 199 

CHAPTER XVII. 

On the adaption of one^s intellectual efforts to the 
character of his own mind and the circumstances 
in which he is placed, 211 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Italian Paintings, 231 

CHAPTER XIX. 
Association Discussed, 237 

CHAPTER XX. 
Rome, 241 

CHAPTER XXL 
Easter Sunday in Rome, 258 

CHAPTER XXII. 
Relics, . 278 

CHAPTER XXIII. 
Pope Pius IX. and Italy, 291 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

OP 

J. T. HEADLEY. 



The first American ancestor of Mr. Headley was 
the eldest son of an English baronet, "who came to 
this country in consequence of a domestic quarrel, 
and ultimately refused the family estate, which is now 
held by Sir Francis Headley, the author of a work 
of some note, on chemistry. Mr. Headley was born 
on the 30th of December, 1814, at Walton, in New 
York, where his father was settled as a clergyman. 
It is a wild and romantic spot on the banks of the 
Delaware, and his early familiarity with its scenery, 
doubtless occasioned much of his love of mountain 
climbing, and indeed, his descriptive power. He com- 
menced his studies with the law in view, but changed 
his plan; and after graduating at Union College, 
became a student of theology, at Auburn. He was 
licensed in New Torkj and a church was offered him 
in that city, but his health was feeble, and his phy- 
sician dissuaded him from attempting to preach. Un- 
willing, however, to abandon his profession without an 
effort, he took charge of a small church in Stock- 

1* (v) 



VI BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

bridge, in Massachusetts, where he thought he could 
give himself the most favorable trial, but after two 
years and a half, broke down completely, and planned 
a European tour and residence for his recovery. He 
went to Italy in the summer of 1842, intending to 
spend the winter there, the summer in Switzerland, 
and the next winter in the East. The state of his 
health, however, led to some modification of his 
design ; he remained in Italy only about eight months, 
traveled some time in Switzerland, passed through 
Germany and the Netherlands, went into Belgium, 
thence to France, then over England and Wales, and 
finally home, having been absent less than two years. 
His health being worse than when he went abroad, 
he gave up all idea of following his profession, and 
turned his attention to literature. 

His first publication was a translation from the Ger- 
man, which appeared anonymously, in 1844. In the 
following year, he gave to the press. Letters from 
Italy, and the Alps, and the Rhine ; and in 1846, Na- 
poleon and his Marshals, and The Sacred Mountains. 

Mr. Headley is one of the most promising of the 
youthful writers of this country. He has shown his 
capacity to write an agreeable book, and to write a 
popular one. His Letters from Italy is a work upon 
which a man of taste will be gratified to linger. It 
possesses the unfatiguing charms of perfect simplicity 
and truth. It exhibits a thousand lively traits, of an 
ingenuous nature, which, formed in a sincere and un- 
sophisticated society, and then brought into the midst 
of the old world, retains all its freshness and distinc- 



BIOaRAPHICAL SKETCH. Vii 

tlveness, and observes with native intelligence, every 
thing that is striking in the life, and manners, and 
scenery around it. There is a graceful frankness 
pervades the composition, which engages the interest 
of the reader in the author as well as in the subject. 
We meet, every where, the evidences of manly feel- 
ing, pure sympathies, and an honorable temper. In 
many of the passages there is a quiet and almost 
unconscious humor, which reminds us of the delicate 
raillery of The Spectator. The style is delightfully 
free from every thing bookish and commonplace ; it is 
natural, familiar, and idiomatic. It approaches, as a 
work of that design ought to do, the animation, variety, 
and ease, of spoken language. 

The work called Napoleon and his Marshals, was" 
written to be popular. The author obviously con- 
templated nothing but effect. In that point of view, 
it displays remarkable talent for accomplishing a pro- 
posed object. The figures and scenes are delineated 
with that freedom and breadth of outline, and in that 
vivid and strongly contrasted style of coloring, which 
are well calculated to attract and delight the people. 
If it were regarded as a work written to satisfy his 
own ideas of excellence, and as the measure of his 
best abilities, it could not be considered as adding any 
thing to his reputation. He has taken the subject 
up with ardor, but with little previous preparation: 
the work, therefore, indicates imperfect information, 
immature views of character, and many hasty and 
unconsidered opinions. The style has the same melo- 
dramatic exaggeration which the whole design of the 



Vlil BIOaHAPIIICAL SKETCH. 

work exhibits. Yet unquestionably there is power 
manifested even in the faults of these brilliant 
sketches. There is that exuberant copiousness of 
imagination and passion, which, if it be not admirable 
in itself, is interesting as the excess of youthful 
genius. We accept it as a promise, but are not 
satisfied with it as a production. If it be true, how- 
ever, as has been stated, that some five thousand 
copies of this book have been disposed of in the few 
months that have elapsed since its publication, Mr. 
Headley has many motives to disregard the warnings 
which may be mingled with his triumph. 

I am unwilling to trust myself in a detailed criti- 
cism of Mr. Headley 's latest work — The Sacred 
Mountains. He may readily be acquitted of inten- 
tional irreverence ; but he has displayed a most unfor- 
tunate want of judgment, and a singular insensibility 
to the character of the subject which he undertook 
to handle. The attempt to approximate and fami- 
liarize the incidents of the Deluge, to illustrate the 
Transfiguration by historical contrasts, and to heighten 
the agony and awe of the Crucifixion by the extrava- 
gancies of rhetoric, has produced an efi'ect that is 
purely displeasing. As events in the annals of the 
world, those august occurrences " stand solitary and 
sublime,'' and are only to be viewed through the pas- 
sionless ether of the inspired narrative. As mysteries 
of faith, and symbols of a truth before which our 
nature bows down, they recede into the infinite dis- 
tance of sanctity and worship. In a literary point 
of view, Mr. Headley's design has much the same 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. IX 

success that would attend an effort to represent the 
stars of heaven, the horror of an eclipse, or the 
roseate beauty of an evening sky, by the whiz and 
crackle of artificial fireworks. 

We think so highly of Mr. Headley's natural 
powers, that we feel a concern in their proper direc- 
tion and development. The fascination of strong 
writing, the love of rhetorical effect, have proved the 
"torva voluptas'' by which American genius has often 
been betrayed and sacrificed. It is to be hoped that 
Mr. Headley will recover in time from the dangerous 
intoxication. He should remember that the spirit of 
literary art is essentially natural, simple, and calm ; 
that it is advanced, not by sympathy with the pas- 
sions of the multitude, but by lonely communion with 
that high idea of excellence, which is pure, perma- 
nent, and sacred; that it dwells not in excitement, 
and the fervent endeavor after an outward result, but 
in the quiet yet earnest development of those inward 
instincts of grace and beauty which are the creative 
energy of genius. Mr. Headley's first move in litera- 
ture was a commendable and successful one, and he 
could not do better for his true fame than to retrace 
his steps, and recover the line of his earliest efforts. 

Besides the works above mentioned, Mr. Headley 
has published several orations and many able articles 
in the reviews. 



EAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER I. 

MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 

" Es ist Zeit zu aufstehen — es ist drei viertel auf 
eins," said a voice in reply to my question, "Wer 
ist da?" as I was awakened by a low knock at my 
door. I had just composed myself to sleep for the 
second time, as this, "It is time to get up, it wants a 
quarter of one," aroused me. I was in the mountain 
valley of Grindelwald in the very heart of the Ober- 
land. I had been wandering for weeks amid the glo- 
rious scenery of the Alps, which had gone on chang- 
ing from grand to awful till I had become as familiar 
with precipices, and gorges, and glaciers, and snow- 
peaks, and avalanches, as with the meadow-spots and 
hill-sides of my native valley. I had stood in the 
shadow of Mont Blanc, and seen the sun go down on 
his bosom of snow, until from the base to the heaven- 
reaching summit, it was all one transparent rose 
color, blushing and glowing in bright and wondrous 
beauty in the evening atmosphere. I had stood and 
gazed on him and his mountain guard, tinted with 
the same deep rose-hue, till their glory departed, and 
Mont Blanc rose, white, and cold, and awful, like a 

.(11) 



12 EAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

miglity model in the pale moonlight. I had wandered 
over its sea of ice, and climbed its break-neck preci- 
pices, and trod the difficult passes that surround it, 
but never yet had seen a wild chamois on its native 
hills. I had roamed through the Oberland with no 
better success. All that I had heard and dreamed of 
the Alps had been more than realized. Down the 
bosom of the Jungfrau I had seen the reckless ava- 
lanche stream, and listened all night to its thunder 
crash in the deep gulfs, sending its solemn monotone 
through the Alpine solitudes, till my heart stood still 
in my bosom. From the highest peak of the Wettor- 
horn (peak of tempests) I had seen one of those 
"thunderbolts of snow" launch itself in terror and 
might into the very path I was treading — crushed 
by its own weight into a mere mist that rose up the 
face of the precipice, like spray from the foot of a 
waterfall. With its precipices leaning over me, I 
had walked along with silent lips and subdued feel- 
ings, as one who trod near the margin of Jehovah's 
mantle. I had never been so humbled in the pre- 
sence of nature before, and a whole world of new emo- 
tions and new thoughts had been opened within me. 
Along the horizon of my memory some of those won- 
drous peaks were now drawn as distinctly as they lay 
along the Alpine heavens. Now and then, a sweet 
pasturage had burst on me from amid this savage 
scenery, like a sudden smile on the brow of wrath, 
while the wild strain of the Alp-horn, ringing through 
the rare atmosphere, and the clear voices of the 
mountaineers singing their "ranz de v aches y'' as they 



MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 13 

led their herds along the mountain path to their 
eagle-nested huts, had turned it all into poetry. If a 
man wishes to have remembrances that never grow 
old, and never lose their power to excite the deepest 
wonder, let him roam through the Oberland. 

But I like to have forgotten the hunt I started to 
describe, in the wonderful scenery its remembrance 
called' up. Grindelwald is a green valley lying be- 
tween the passes of the Wengern Alp and the Grand 
Scheideck, which are between three and four thou- 
sand feet above it, and are in turn, surrounded by 
mountains six or seven thousand feet loftier still, 
although the valley itself is higher than the tops of 
the Catskill range. There, rise in solemn majesty, as 
if to wall in for ever the little valley, the Eigher, or 
Giant — the Schreckhorn, or terrible peak — the Wet- 
terhorn, or peak of tempests — the Faulhorn, or foul 
peak — ^the Grand Scheideck, and a little farther away 
the Jungfrau, or virgin. Thus surrounded, and over- 
looked, and guarded for ever, the green valley sleeps 
on as if unconscious of the presence of such awful 
forms. Here and there, by the stream that wanders 
through it, and over the green slopes that go modestly 
up to the mountain on either side, are scattered 
wooden cottages, as if thrown there by some careless 
hand, presenting from the heights around, one of the 
most picturesque views one meets in Switzerland. 
When the sun has left his last baptism on the high 
snow-peaks, and deep shadow is settling down on 
Grindelwald, there is a perfect storm of sound through 
the valley from the thousands of bells that are at- 

2 



14 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

tached to the nearly six thousand of cattle the in- 
habitants keep in the pasturage during the day. The 
clamor of these bells in a still Alpine valley, made 
louder by the mountains that shut in the sound, is sin- 
gularly wild and pleasing. 

But the two most remarkable objects in this valley 
are two enormous glaciers which, born far up amid 
the mountains — grown there among the gulfs into 
seas — come streaming down into these green pas- 
turages, plunging their foreheads into the flat ground 
which lies even lower than the village. Rocks are 
thrown up, and even small hills, by the enormous 
pressure of the superincumbent mass. Miles of ice, 
from sixty to six hundred feet thick, push against 
the mass in front which meets the valley. One im- 
mense rock, which seems a mere projection from the 
primeval base of the mountains, has resisted the pres- 
sure of one of these immense glaciers, which, conse- 
quently, has forced itself over, leaving a huge cave 
from its foot up to where the rock lies imbedded. I 
went into this cavern, the roof of which was blue as 
heaven, and polished like a mirror, while a still pool 
at the bottom acted as a mirror to this mirror, till it 
stood confined as in a magic circle. These two gla- 
ciers push themselves boldly almost into the very 
heart of the village, chilling its air and acting like 
huge refrigerators, especially at evening. The day 
previous to the one appointed for the chamois hunt 
had been one of extreme toil to me. I had traveled 
from morning till night, and most of the time on foot 
in deep snow, although a July sun pretended to be 



MY PIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 15 

shining overhead. Unable to sleep, I had risen about 
midnight and opened my window, when I was startled 
as though I had seen an apparition ; for there before 
me, and apparently within reach of my hand, and 
whiter than the moonhght that was poured in a per- 
fect flood upon it, stood one of those immense gla- 
ciers. The night had lessened even the little dis- 
tance that intervened between the hamlet and it 
during the day, and it looked like some awful white 
monster — some sudden and terrific creation of the 
gods, moved there on purpose to congeal men's 
hearts with terror. But as my eye grew more fa- 
miliar to it, and I remembered it was but an Alpine 
glacier, I gazed on it with indescribable feelings. 
From the contemplation of this white and silent form 
I had just returned to my couch and to my slumbers, 
when the exclamation at the head of this sketch 
awoke me. It was one o'clock in the morning, and I 
must up if I would fulfill my engagement with the 
chamois hunters. 

In coming down the slope of the Grand Scheideck 
into the Grindelwald, you see on the opposite moun- 
tain a huge mass of rock rising out of the centre of 
a green pasturage which rises at the base of an im- 
mense snow region. Flats and hollows, no matter 
how high up among the Alps, become pasturages in 
the summer. The debris of the mountains above, 
washed down by the torrents, form a slight soil, on 
which grass will grow, while the snows melted by the 
summer sun flow down upon it, keeping it constantly 
moist and green. These pasturagen, though at an 



16 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

elevation of eight thousand feet, will keep green, 
while the slopes and peaks around are covered with 
perpetual snow ; and furnish not only grazing for the 
goats which the mountaineer leads thither with the 
first break of day, but food for the wild chamois, 
which descend from the snow fields around at early 
dawn to take their morning repast. With the first 
sound of the shepherd's horn winding up the cMs 
with his flocks, they hie them away again to their 
inaccessible paths. The eye of the chamois is won- 
derfully keen, and it is almost impossible to approach 
him when he is thus feeding. The only way the 
hunter can get a shot at him is to arrive at the pas- 
turage first, and find some place of concealment near 
by, in which he can wait his approach. The pile of 
rocks I alluded to, standing in the midst of the ele- 
vated pasturage, furnished such a place of conceal- 
ment, and it seemed made on purpose for the hunters' 
benefit. 

It is two or three good hours' tramp to reach these 
rocks from Grindelwald, and it may be imagined with 
how much enthusiasm I turned out of my bed, where 
I had obtained scarcely two hours' sleep, on such a 
cold expedition as this. It is astonishing how difi'er- 
ently a man views things at night and in the morn- 
ning. The evening before I was all excitement in 
anticipation of the morning hunt, but now I would 
willingly have given all I had promised the three 
hunters who where to accompany me, if I could only 
have lain still and taken another nap. I looked out 
of the window, hoping to see some indications of a 



MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 17 

storm which would furnish an excuse for not turning 
out in the cold midnight to climb an Alpine moun- 
tain. But for once the heavens were provokingly 
clear, and the stars twinkled over the distant snow 
summits as if they enjoyed the clear frosty air of that 
high region ; while the full-orbed moon, just stooping 
behind the western horizon (which by the way, was 
much nearer the zenith than the horizon proper), 
looked the Eigher (a giant) full in his lordly face, till 
his brow of ice and snow shone like silver in the 
light. With our rifles in our hands we emerged from 
the inn and passed through the sleeping hamlet. 
Not a sound broke the stillness save the monotonous 
roar of the turbulent little streamlet that went hurry- 
ing onward, or now and then the cracking and crush- 
ing sound of the ice amid the glaciers. 

I had hunted deer in the forest of America, both 
at evening and morning, but never with teeth chat- 
tering so loudly as they did before I had fairly be- 
gun to ascend the mountain. Ugh ! ^ I can remember 
it as if it were but yesterday — how my bones ached 
and my fingers closed like so many sticks around my 
rifle. Imagine the eS*ects of two heaps of red-hot 
coals, about a hundred feet thick and several miles 
long, lifted to an angle of forty-five degrees, in a 
small and confined valley, and then by contrast you 
may get some idea of the cold generated by these 
two enormous glaciers. Yes, I ^d^j generated ; for I 
gave up that morning all my old notions about cold 
being the absence of heat, &c., and became perfectly 
convinced that heat was the absence of cold^ for if 

2* 



18 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

cold did not radiate from those masses of ice, then 
there is no reliance to be placed on one's sensations. 

Now crawling over the rocks, now picking our way 
over the snow-crust, which bore us or not, just as the 
whim took it, I at length slipped and fell and rolled 
over in the snow, by way of a cold bath. This com- 
pleted my discomfort, and I fairly groaned aloud in 
vexation at my stupidity in taking this freezing 
tramp for the sake of a chamois, which, after all, we 
might not get. But the continous straining effort 
demanded by the steepness of the ascent finally got 
my blood in full circulation, and I began to think 
there might be a worse expedition even than this un- 
dertaken by a sensible man. 

At length we reached the massive pile of rocks, 
which covered at least an acre and a half of ground, 
and began to bestow ourselves away in the most ad- 
vantageous places of concealment, of which there 
was an abundance. But a half-hour's sitting on the 
rocks in this high region, surrounded by everlasting 
snow, brought my blood from its barely comfortable 
temperature back to zero again, and I shook like a 
man in an ague. I knew that a chamois would be 
perfectly safe at any distance greater than two feet 
from the muzzle of my rifle, with such shaking limbs ; 
so I began to leap about, and rub my legs, and 
stamp, to the no small annoyance of my fellow-hunt- 
ers, who were afraid the chamois might see me be- 
fore we should see them. Wearied with waiting for 
the dawn, I climbed up among the rocks, and, rest- 
ing myself in a cavity secure* from notice, gazed 



MY PIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 19 

around me on the wondrous scene. Strangely white 
forms arose on every side, while deep down in the 
valley the darkness lay like a cloud. Not a sound 
broke the deep hush that lay on every thing, and I 
forgot, for the time, my chilliness, chamois hunters, 
and all, in the impressive scene that surrounded me. 
As I sat in mute silence, gazing on the awful peaks 
that tore up the heavens in every direction, suddenly 
there came a dull heavy sound like the booming of 
heavy cannon thi^ough the jarred atmosphere. An 
avalanche had fallen all alone into some deep abyss, 
and this was the voice it sent back as it crushed 
below. As that low thundersound died away over the 
peaks, a feeling of awe and mystery crept over me, 
and it seemed dangerous to speak in the presence of 
such majesty and power. 

"Hist! hist!" broke from my companions below; 
and I turned to where their eyes were straining 
through the dim twilight. It was a long time before 
I could discover any thing but snow-fields and pre- 
cipices ; but at length I discerned several moving 
black objects, that in the distance appeared like so 
many insects on the white slope that stretched away 
towards the summit of the mountain. Bringing my 
pocket spy-glass to bear upon them, I saw they were 
chamois moving down towards the pasturage. Now 
carefully crawling down some ledge, now leaping over 
a crevice, and jumping a few steps forward, and now 
gently trotting down the inclined plane of snow, they 
made their way down the mountain. As the daylight 
grew broader over the peaks, and they approached 



20 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

nearer, their movements and course became more dis- 
tinct and evident. They were making for the upper 
end of the pasturage, and it might be two hours 
before they would work down to our ambuscade ; 
indeed, they might get their fill without coming near 
us at all. I watched them through my spy-glass as 
they fed without fear on the green herbage, and almost 
wished they would keep out of the range of our rifles. 
They were the perfect impersonation of wildness and 
timidity. The lifting of the head, the springy tread, 
and the quick movement in every limb, told how little 
it would take to send them with the speed of the wind 
to their mountain homes. The chamois is built some- 
thing like the tame goat, only slighter, while his fore- 
leo-s are lono-er than his hinder ones, so that he slants 
downward from his head to his tail. His horns are 
beautiful, being a jet black, and rising in parallel line 
from his head even to the point where they curve 
over. They neither incline backward nor outward, 
but, rising straight out of the head, seem to project 
forward, while their parallel position almost to the 
tips of the curvatures gives them a very crank ap- 
pearance. They are as black as ebony, and some of 
them bend in as true a curve as if turned by the most 
skilful hand. 

I watched every movement of these wild creatures 
till my attention was arrested by a more attractive 
sight. The sun had touched the topmost peaks of 
the loftiest mountains that hemmed in the sweet valley 
of Grindelwald, turning the snow into fire, till the 
lordly summits seemed to waver to and fro in the red 



MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 21 

light that bathed them. A deep shadow still lay on 
the vale, through which the cottages of the inhabit- 
ants could scarcely be distinguished. At length they 
grew clearer and clearer in the increasing light, and 
column after column of smoke rose in the morning 
air, striving in vain to reach half way up the moun- 
tains that stood in silent reverence before the uprising 
sun. The ruddy light had descended down the Alps, 
turning them all into a deep rose color. There stood 
the Giant, robed like an angel ; and there the 
Schreckhorn, beautiful as the morning ; and there the 
Faulhorn, with the same glorious appareling on ; and 
farther away the Jungfrau, looking, indeed, like a 
virgin, with all her snowy vestments about her, tinged 
with the hue of the rose. All around and heaven- 
high rose these glorious forms, looking as if the Deity 
had thrown the mantle of his majesty over them on 
purpose to see how they became their glorious ap- 
pareKng. 

It was a scene of enchantment. At length the 
mighty orb which had wrought all this magnificent 
change on the Alpine peaks, rose slowly into view. 
How majestic he came up from behind that peak, as 
if conscious of the glory he was shedding on creation. 
The dim glaciers that before lay in shadow, flashed 
out like seas of silver — the mountains paled away into 
their virgin white, and it was broad sunrise in the 
Alps. 

I had forgotten the chamois in this sudden unroll- 
ing of so much magnificence before me, and lay ab- 
sorbed in the overpowing emotions they naturally 



22 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

awakened, when the faint and far-off strain of the 
shepherd's horn came floating by. The mellow notes 
lingered among the rocks, and were prolonged in 
softer cadences through the deep valleys, and finally 
died away on the distant summits. A shepherd was 
on his way to this pasturage with his goats. He 
wears a horn, which he now and then wijids to keep 
his flock in the path ; and also during the day, when 
he sees any one of the number straying too near pit- 
falls and crevices, he blows his horn, and the straggler 
turns back to the pasturage. 

A second low exclamation from my Swiss hunters 
again drew my attention to the chamois. They also 
had heard the sound of the horn, and had pricked up 
their ears, and stood listening. A second strain 
sounding nearer and clearer, they started for the 
snow fields. As good luck would have it, they came 
trotting in a diagonal line across the pasturage which 
would bring them in close range of our rifies. We 
lay all prepared, and when they came opposite us, 
one of the hunters made a low sound which caused 
them all to stop. At a given signal we all fired. 
One gave a convulsive spring into the air, ran a few 
rods, and fell mortally wounded. The rest, winged 
with fear and terror, made for the heights. I watched 
their rapid flight for some distance, when I noticed 
that one began to flag, and finally dropped entirely 
behind. Poor fellow, thought I to myself, you are 
struck. His leap grew slower and slower, till at 
length he stopped, then gave a few faint springs for- 
word, then stopped again, and seemed to look wist- 



MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT." 23 

fully towards his flying companions that vanished like 
shadows over the snow fields that sloped up to the 
inaccessible peaks. I could not but pity him as I 
saw him limp painfully on. In imagination I could 
already see the Hfe-blood oozing drop by drop from 
his side, bring faintness over his heart, and exhaustion 
to his fleet limbs. 

Losing sight of him for the moment, we hastened to 
the one that lay struggling in his last dying efl'orts 
upon the grass. I have seen deer die that my bullet 
had brought down, and as I gazed on the wild yet 
gentle eye, expressing no anger even in death, but 
only fear and terror, my heart has smitten me for 
the deed I had done. The excitement of the chase 
is one thing — to be in at the death is quite another. 
But not even the eye of the deer, with its beseeching, 
imploring look, just before the green film closes over 
it, is half so pitiful as was the expression of this dy- 
ing chamois. Such a wild eye I never saw in an ani- 
mal's head, nor such helpless terror depicted in the 
look of any creature. It was absolutely distressing, 
to see such agonizing fear, and I was glad when the 
knife passed over his throat, and he gave his last 
struggle. As soon as he was dispatched, we started 
ofi* after the wounded one. We had no sooner reached 
the snow than the blood spots told where the sufl*erer 
had gone. It was easy enough to trace him by the 
life he left with every step, and we soon came upon 
him stretched upon his side. As he heard us ap- 
proach the poor fellow made a desperate efi^ort to rise, 
but he only half erected himself before he rolled 



24 SKETCHES AND RAMBLES. 

back with a faint bleat and lay panting on the snow. 
He was soon dispatched ; and, with the two bodies 
strung on poles, we turned our steps homeward. 
Who of the four had been the successful marksmen 
it was impossible to tell, though I had a secret con- 
viction I was not one of them — still, my fellow-hunt- 
ers insisted that I was. Not only the position itself 
made it probable, but the bullet-hole corresponded in 
size to the bore of my rifle. The evidences, however, 
were not so clear to my own mind ; and I could not 
but think they would not have been to theirs, but for 
the silver bullet I was expected to shoot with when 
we returned to the valley. The size of that had more 
to do with their judgment than the rent in the side of 
the poor chamois. 

Part of one was dressed for my breakfast, and for 
once it possessed quite a relish. This was owing to 
two things — first, my appetite, which several hours on 
the mountain had made ravenous, and second, to the 
simple way in which I had ordered it to be dressed. 
The flesh of the chamois is very black, and possesses 
nothing of the flavor of our venison. Added to this, 
the mountaineers cook it in oil, or stew it up in some 
barbarous manner, till it becomes any thing but a 
palatable dish. 

The two most peculiar things about a chamois are 
its hoofs and its horns. The former are hollow, and 
hard as flint. The edges are sharp, and will catch 
on a rook where a claw would give way. It is the 
peculiar sharpness and hardness of the hoof that give 
it security in its reckless climbing along the clefts of 



MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 25 

precipices. It will leap over chasms on to a narrow 
ledge where you would think it could not stand, even 
if carefully placed there. It flings itself from rock 
to rock in the most reckless manner, relying alone on 
its sharp hoof for safety. Its horns seem to answer 
no purpose at all, being utterly useless both from 
their position and shape as an instrument of defence. 
They may add solidity to the head, and thus assist 
in its butting conflicts with its fellows. Some of the 
Swiss told me, however, that the animal struck on 
them when it missed its hold and fell over a precipice 
— thus breaking the force of the fall. It may be so, 
but it looked rather apocryphal to me. It would not 
be an easy matter, in the rapidity of a headlong fall, 
to adjust the body so that its whole force would come 
dii-ectly on the curvature of the horns, especially 
when the landing spot may be smooth earth, a rock 
lying at an angle of forty-five degrees, or a block of 
ice. 

The evening after my expedition I spent with some 
hunters, who entertained me with stories of the chase, 
some of which would make a Texas frontier man open 
his eyes. One of these I designed to relate, but find 
I have not room. At some future time I may give it. 



8 



26 EAMBLES AND SKETCHES, 



CHAPTER IL 
RAMBLES THROUGH PARIS. 

One prominent idea filled my mind in entering 
Paris — ''the Revolution." As the smoke of the 
mighty city rose on my vision, and its deafening hum 
rolled towards me as we came thundering along in 
our lumbering diligence from Brussels, an involuntary 
shudder crept through my frame, for I remembered 
the terrific tragedies of which it had been the scene. 
I seemed to hear the tocsin pealing on over the de- 
voted city, sending faintness and despair to the terri- 
fied inhabitants, and the firing of the alarm guns 
calling out the populace to the place and work of 
massacre. 

The French Revolution is just beginning to be un- 
derstood. Deriving our notions very much from 
English historians, who hate republicanism in what- 
ever form it appears, they have taken pains to throw 
all the horrors of the Reign of Terror on the excited 
populace, and we have adopted their sentiments. 
Added to this, the overthrow of religion, and the 
worse than heathen orgies instituted in place of its 
ceremonies, have destroyed our sympathy for the peo- 
ple, and made us ready to uphold any thing and any 
system rather than the anarchy that worked out such 



RAMBLES THROUan PARIS. 27 

terrible results in France. But we must remember 
that the French Kevolution was the first dawn of hu- 
man liberty amid the despotisms of Europe, and that 
convulsions like those which rocked France and sunk 
her in a sea of blood, were necessary to disrupt and 
upheave the iron-like feudal system that had been 
cemented, and strengthened, and rusted together for 
centuries. This system had gone on increasing in 
cruelty and oppression, till the people of France 
were crushed into the earth, despoiled, robbed, and 
insulted ; while, to crown all, famine, ^ith its horrors, 
appeared, sending the moan of distress and the cry of 
the starving over the land. 

Oppression had reached the limit where despair 
begins, and that is the spot where the earthquake is 
gendered. In this state of things, and to relieve 
the bankruptcy of the kingdom which a corrupt court 
and profligate nobility had brought about, the tiers 
Stat, or representation of the people, was ordered to 
meet the clergy and the nobility in a sort of Con- 
gress or National Convention, to take into considera- 
tion the dangers that every day became more immi- 
nent and alarming. The representatives of the peo- 
ple flocked to Paris, and there received insults and 
contumely, till at length, after months of inaction, 
in which famine and sufi'ering increased, they deter- 
mined to take redress into their own hands. But 
while legislating calmly and wisely for France, the 
court and aristocracy formed a conspiracy to murder 
them and dissipate the Assembly. 

The people sympathized with their representatives, 



28 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

and conspired in return. Thus commenced the vio- 
lence which deluged France in blood, and almost 
decimated her population. At the first, the people 
were all right, and the court and nobility all wrong ; 
and the violence that visited Paris is to be attributed 
not so much to the people, as to those who opposed 
and exasperated them. Just so the hostility to re- 
ligion is chargeable on the Catholic clergy rather 
than on the populace. Religion never entered as an 
element into the strife, one way or the other, until 
the priests conspired with the oppressor. Catholic- 
ism has always sided with power, against the rights 
of the people ; and it was not till after its priests 
showed themselves opposed to justice, and mercy, 
and truth, that the people rose against them. Know- 
ing no other religion but the Catholic, which had 
lived by robbery and wrong, and now stood between 
them and their rights, looking with a cold eye on 
their starving children and perishing friends, what 
wonder is it they swept it from the face of the earth ? 
Overwhelmed with the horrors of the Revolution, we 
forget to put the first and chief blame where it be- 
longs. A haughty aristocracy, trampling out the 
lives of the poor, and endeavoring to still their com- 
plaints by the bayonet, shed the first blood of Paris. 
A corrupt priesthood, living in luxury and sin, on the 
plundered wealth of those who are now starving 
for bread, and asking in most piteous accents for 
help, caused the first opposition to religion, which 
finally ended in its public abrogation and the de- 
struction of the Sabbath. It is time tyranny and the 



I 



RAMBLES THROUGH PARIS. 29 

Catholic religion, refusing month after month, and 
year after year, the humble and earnest prayer of .a 
perishing people, were called to account for the hor- 
rors of the French Revolution, and not the excited 
maddened populace. So also we might speak of the 
despotisms of Europe that attempted to crush the 
infant republic in its first struggles for life ; and show 
how their conspiracies, and open war, and secret 
emissaries awoke all the fears and suspicions of those 
who, with a halter round their neck, stood at the 
head of government, till, in self-defence, they com- 
menced those dreadful massacres which shocked the 
world. 

We might also speak of the absolute necessity 
of this wild upheaving to break the power of feud- 
alism in Europe. It was inevitable ; if it had not 
come in France it would have come in England. 
We do not mean to excuse in any way the perpe- 
trators of those acts of violence, but we wish the 
chief guilt to rest where it belongs — on those who 
finally fell before the wrath of an indignant and 
maddened mob. 

But not to weary you with a political disquisition 
on the French Revolution, stand here with me in 
the beautiful Garden of the Tuileries, and let the 
past come back on the excited memory. Robes- 
pierre, Danton,- Marat, Camille Des MouUns, Cou- 
thon, the bold Mirabeau, Vergniaud, the patriot 
Lafayette, the unfortunate Louis and his queen, and, 
last of allj that fearful man Napoleon Bonaparte, 
come in solemn procession through these green 

3* 



30 EAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

walks. Every step here reminds one of the Revolu- 
tion, and the actors in it. There, in front, stands 
the noble Palace of the Tuileries, round which the 
mob so often streamed with shouts and curses, and 
from whence Louis and his wife went to the scaffold ; 
and just above the main entrance is the same clock 
whose bell tolled the hour of death to the hundreds 
that perished by the guillotine. Behind, at the 
farther end, just out of the Garden of the Tuileries, 
in the Champs Elys^es, stands an old Egyptian obe- 
lisk, occupying the site of the guillotine on which 
Louis and Marie Antoinette suffered, and from which 
flowed the noblest blood of France. Two beautiful 
fountains are throwing up their foam beside it, where 
the mob were wont to sit and sing, " Ca ira^'' as head 
after head rolled on the scaffold. Around it walk 
the gay promenaders, never thinking what a place of 
terror they tread upon. 

It was on the 20th of June, that the mob of 
80,000, com.posed of men, women, and children, in 
squalid attire, and with hideous cries, entered by 
force, and marched in wild procession through the 
Assembly of France, where her representatives sat 
in council upon the dangers that environed them. 
Banners, on w^hich were written the ^'Rights of Man," 
and ''The Constitution or Death," and ''Long live the 
SanS'Cidottes^'' were borne aloft; while one carried 
on high, on the point of his pike, a bleeding heart, 
labeled "The Heart of Aristocracy." With dances, 
and yells, and singing the wild " Ca ira^'' this motley 
crowd streamed through the Legislative Hall, and 



RAMBLES THROUGH PARIS. 81 

for three hours made it the scene of their infernal 
orgies. They then crowded through this beautiful 
garden, and pressed into the palace, and surrounded 
the king. Seated in a chair upon a table, surrounded 
by a few of his National Guard, he bore himself for 
once right kingly, and awed the infuriated mob by his 
calm presence. A drunken woman handed him the 
red cap of liberty, which he immediately, without 
changing his countenance, placed on his head. 
Another offered him a cup of water, and though he 
suspected it contained poison, he drank it off at a 
draught. An inyoluntary cheer burst from the throng 
at this act of confidence. But while this dis- 
graceful scene was passing without and within the 
palace, a slight, dark-looking young man emerged 
from a cafe, and seeing the mob filling the garden, 
said to his friend, "Let us see what is going on 
yonder." Standing in one of the walks of this 
garden, he beheld all that transpired within the 
palace with irrepressible disgust ; and at length, 
when he saw the king put on the red cap, he could 
restrain his indignation no longer, and exclaimed, 
" What folly ! How could he disgrace himself so ? 
The wretches — he should have blown four or five 
hundred of them into the air at once, and the rest 
would have taken to their heels." That wsls young 
Napoleon^ and the friend beside him, Bourrienne. 
Three years after, he stood in this same garden in 
very different relations. The mob, and the National 
Guard together, amounting in all to 40,000 men, had 
resolved to overthrow the Convention and govern- 



82 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

ment of France. An army of 5000 soldiers was all 
the government could muster to resist this appalling 
force. It matters not ; a young artillery officer, a 
bronze-looking man, is at their head, showing in 
every feature and movement, that he is no Louis 
XVI. No womanish weakness or fear agitates his 
Heart. He looks on the approaching thousands as 
calmly as the marble statues that fill the garden 
about him, and orders his trusty band to stand in 
dense array around his few cannon, that are charged 
to the muzzle with grape-shot. He is about to try 
the experiment he, three years before, had said the 
king should have tried. It is young Bonaparte. 
With his stern, quick voice, he inspires his men with 
confidence, as he hurries from post to post. A short 
street, called the Rue St. Honore, comes directly up 
in a right angle to the garden, from the church St. 
Roche, which stands at the farther end. Up this 
short street pressed a body of the insurgents, while 
the church was filled with armed men who kept up a 
deadly fire on the regular troops. Bonaparte saw 
them approach with the same indifi'erence he had so 
often watched the charge of the Austrian columns on 
his artillery, and pointed his deadly battery full on 
the crowding ranks of his countrymen. ^Tire !" 
broke from his lips, and that narrow street was 
strewed with the dead. Discharge after discharge 
of grape-shot swept with awful destruction through 
the multitude, till at length they broke and fled in 
wild confusion through the city. The walls of the 
church stiU bear the bullet-marks of that dreadful 



RAMBLES THROUaH PARIS. 83 

fire, and stand as a monument of the great insurrec- 
tion of Paris. But while yictory was with the young 
Bonaparte on this side of the garden, the insurgents 
had carried the bridge that spans the Seine on the 
other, and came pouring over the graveled walks 
full on his deadly battery. He let them approach 
till within less than four rods of his guns, and then 
hurled that awful storm of grape-shot into their 
bosoms. Smitten back by this awful fire in their 
very faces, mangling and tearing through their dense 
columns, they halted — but not till they had received 
three of those murderous discharges did they break 
and flee. This broke up Parisian mobs, and ended 
popular insurrections. The temporizing, timid spirit 
had for years left the city a prey to lawless violence, 
and deluged it in blood. One resolute, determined 
man ended them at once. Boldness and resolution 
will always crush a mob, and the city authorities that 
dare not support the laws, because they are afraid to 
take human life, adopt the surest course to secure the 
greatest flow of blood. 

Here, too, previous to this, fell the brave Swiss 
Guards, fighting for their king. Had Louis possessed 
a tenth part of their valor, he could have retained 
his throne, and given the people a constitution and a 
constitutional freedom besides. He, in his womanly 
weakness, enraged the mob to .acts of violence, by 
refusing to maintain the law by the strong arm of 
force. Appointed to uphold the laws, he would not 
do it, and hence shares the guilt of the consequences 
that followed. 



34 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

There was a curious exhibition of human nature 
in this tragedy, as the Swiss were driven out of the 
palace and slaughtered. Some of them, to escape 
death, climbed up the statues that stand so thick in 
front of the palace. The mob, though drunk with 
blood, would not fire on them lest they should mutilate 
the statues, and so pricked them down with their 
bayonets and speared them on the ground. A most 
singular instance of mere taste disarming ferocity 
when humanity and pity where wholly forgotten ? To 
spare a statue and murder a man — to feel for art, and 
at the same time have no feeling for human sufi'ering, 
is certainly a most singular state of mind, and one 
we believe none but a Frenchmen would ever pos- 
sess. 

But let us pass on to the " Place de Revolution." 
Here, where now all is gayety and mirth, stood the 
guillotine that groaned under the weight of bodies it 
was compelled to bear. In the middle of the Reign 
of Terror, Fouquier Tinville was the pubHc accuser 
— a man destitute of all passions but that of murder. 
All the baser lusts of human nature seemed to have 
been concentrated into one feeling in this iron man 
— ^the love of blood. Massacres were at their height, 
and here, by this spot, the tumbrels were constantly 
passing, bearing their load of victims from the prisons 
to the scaffold. There, in that spot, in fair sight of 
yonder palace, where Robespierre was accustomed to 
sit and watch the executions, stood the bloody engine. 
As I stand here, memory is but too faithful to the 
history of that bloody time. Here comes the king, 



RAMBLES THROUGH PARIS. 35 

carried like a common criminal to his execution ! 
Scarcely had his head rolled on the scaffold before 
the pale yet calm and dignified queen passes by, 
hurrying to the same fate ! Here, too, came the base 
Malesherbes, and all his family. The axe falls, and 
is scarcely raised again before Madame Elizabeth, 
sister to the king, places her fair neck under it, and 
is no more ! Custine, for having said he loyed his 
father, who had been executed ; Alexander Beauhar- 
nais, for committing a mistake in the army; the 
brave old Marshal Luckner, for nothing at all ; Gen- 
eral Biron and others; the infamous Madame du 
Barri ; the beautiful young Princess of Monaco ; the 
noble Madame Lavergne ; young women in almost 
countless numbers, many going at their own request 
to die with their parents ! The son of Buffon ; the 
daughter of Vernet ; Florian the novelist ; Boucher, 
the poet, and literary men without end, pass by i^ 
such rapid succession, that the eye grows dim, and 
one after another Hes down on the block, and their 
bodies are ti^undled away in brutal haste to the still 
more brutal burial ! The ascent to that fatal guillo- 
tine was like the ascent to a public edifice, constantly 
thronged with doomed victims. Even the infamous 
Fouquier Tinville at length grew frightened as the 
committee of public safety ordered him to increase 
his executions to a hundred and fifty a day ; as he 
said afterwards, " The Seine, as I returned home, 
seemed to run blood." And there, where the gay 
Parisians are strolling, sat the inhuman multitude, 
and sang " Oa ira^' as head after head rolled at 



36 BAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

their feet. Gutters were made to let the blood run 
off that otherwise would have collected in large pud- 
dles around the place of execution. How one be- 
comes accustomed to places with which the most 
tragic scenes are associated. The Parisians were 
gay and thoughtless as our own promenaders in 
Broadway, while I, a stranger, and standing for the 
first time in that bloody spot, could have but one 
object in my mind — the bloody guillotine ! So with 
the Tuileries. I could think of nothing as I threaded 
its sweetly shaded walks, but the awful scenes that 
had been enacted in it. As my thoughts dwelt thus 
upon this strange and bloody page in human history, 
I could not but feel how Heaven allows men to 
punish themselves. A year before these bloody exe- 
cutions to which I referred, a procession passed by 
here on their way to Notre Dame, carrying to an 
ancient church a lewd woman as the goddess of 
reason. An apostate bishop with several of the 
clergy, appeared at the bar of the Convention, and 
publicly abjured the Christian reUgion. Pach^, He- 
bert, and Chaumette, the municipal leaders, declared 
they would '' dethrone the King of heaven as well as 
the monarchs of the earth." Drunkards and prosti- 
tutes crowded around, trampling on the religious 
vessels that had been consecrated in the churches, 
and the images of Christ. It was publicly declared 
in the Convention, that " God did not exist, and that 
the worship of Reason was to take his place;'' and 
Chaumette, taking his veiled female by the hand, 
said, Mortals, cease to tremble before the powerless 



RAMBLES THROUGH PARIS. 37 

thunders of God, whom your fears have created. 
Henceforth acknowledge no divinity but Reason." 
Mounted on a magnificent car, this beautiful but 
abandoned woman was drawn to Notre Dame, fol- 
lowed by courtesans, and there elevated on the high 
altar in the place of God, and the church was r^ded- 
icated as the temple of Reason. Then followed a 
scene of licentiousness within the walls of that church 
the pen of the historian dares not describe. Well, 
God is no more to the French people, and on all the 
public burial-places, is placed, by order of the govern- 
ment, "Death is an Eternal Sleep!" Awful con- 
dition of human society, that the most careless ob- 
server must see, will end in an earthquake that shall 
startle the world. Yet I see the hand of a just God 
in it all. First fell, before the wronged and starved 
people, a haughty and oppressive nobiHty, by the 
very violence they themselves had set on foot. Next 
came the overthrow of the priests and the confiscation 
of their property, and their public massacre, all of 
which they had merited by their oppressions, and 
corruption, and profligacy, and robbery. Thus far, 
each received the reward of his deeds. But now 
the people, drunk with success and power, refuse to 
recognize the hand of a Deity in enabling them to 
obtain their rights — nay, pubhcly scoflFed him. Well 
they too then must perish in turn. God will sweep 
them all away in succession, till they begin to obey 
the laws of justice and truth, and bow to his over- 
ruhng hand. The year that followed this dethrone- 
ment of the Deity has no parallel in human history. 

4 



38 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

France bled at every pore, and her population reeled 
in crowds into the grave. One wild cry of suffering 
rent the air, and devils rather than men stood at the 
head of government. A year thus rolled by, when 
Robespierre saw that he could not control a people 
that recognized no God ; and, trembling on his bloody 
throne, as he saw the unrestrained tide of human 
passions rushing past him, bearing on its maddened 
bosom the wreck of a mighty people, resolved to rein- 
state the Deity on his throne. And lo ! in this gar- 
den, a magnificent amphitheatre is reared under the 
guiding genius of the painter, David, and filled with 
the expectant crowd. Clad in blue apparel, and 
bearing fruits and flowers in his hands, Robespierre 
appears at the head of the procession, and to the 
sound of stirring music, and ascends the platform 
built for his reception. Statues representing Athe- 
ism, Discord, and Selfishness are set on fire by his 
own hand, and consumed. But when the smoke dis- 
appeared, there appeared in the place where Athe- 
ism, Discord, and Selfishness had stood, a statue of 
Wisdom. But, alas ! it was blackened with smoke 
and covered with ashes, and fit emblem of the sort 
of wisdom that occasion had exhibited. They then 
adjourned to the Champ de Mars, and closed the day 
with patriotic songs and oaths offered to the Supreme 
Being. Men of their own accord, had declared that 
they could not live without a God, and stamped 
themselves as fools in the eyes of the world. But 
this did not prevent the punishment. The oppressive 
aristocracy and the profligate coui't had fallen as 



RAMBLES THROUGH PARIS. 39 

they deserved. Next disappeared the corrupt and 
plundering clergy and the infamous Catholic reli- 
gion. God had dealt justly with them, and now the 
Atheistic and insulting anarchists must take their 
punishment. And it is a little singular, that this 
very occasion on which Robespierre so haughtily re- 
enthroned the Deity should be the chief cause of his 
sudden overthrow ; and, what is still stranger, that 
he should be apprehended and executed in the same 
blue, coat he wore on that day. Thus God often puts 
a mark on his acts, by which men can know their 
meaning and intent. 

We have not room here to speak of the last fear- 
ful act in this long and bloody tragedy which closed 
up the Reign of Terror and introduced a new era to 
France. But it seemed impossible, as I stood in 
this beautiful garden on a bright summer evening, 
and watched the gay throng passing by, that it had 
been the scene of such strange events. How slight 
an impression the earth takes from the deeds done 
upon it ! 

But the wave swept on, and the wild storm passed 
by, and the chaos again assumed shape and order. 
What experiments had been made in morals, and re- 
ligion, and government ! What truths elicited and 
errors exploded ! The race of man had tried to their 
everlasting remembrance some experiments in society. 
But after it all had subsided, and the smoke and dust 
had cleared away, there stood the heavens as God 
had made them, and there his truth as he had reveal- 
ed it, and there his government, more commanding 



40 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

and awe-inspiring than ever. Men are thrown into 
commotion and become wiser than their Maker, but 
their wisdom always turns out in the end to be folly ; 
and after they have wrecked their own happiness, and 
destroyed their own prospects, they confess it all, and 
obey for a while the commands they thought they had 
for ever shaken off. 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 41 



CHAPTER III. 

RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 

In Paris, I had nothing to do but stroll over the 
city and call on memory to bring back the terrible 
past. Bonaparte and the French Revolution are 
every where present to the wanderer over Paris. If 
he looks on the Tuileries or Louvre, it is to think of 
the unfortunate Louis, or perhaps to be shown the 
scars of cannon-shot on their solid sides, hurled 
there by a maddened mob. If he sees an obelisk or 
fountain, it was placed there by Bonaparte, or to 
honor Bonaparte. Look on that beautiful palace 
standing close beside the Champs Elys^e : Robespierre 
used to sit there, to watch the executions decreed by 
the bloody Revolutionary Tribunal. Cast your eye 
down to the Place Vendome ; there rises a beautiful 
shaft, far into the heavens, but Bonaparte is on the 
top, in his everlasting surtout and plumeless chapeau, 
standing on the cannon taken by him in battle. 
This beautiful and lofty shaft is composed entirely of 
cannon which he captured during his military career, 
melted down to compose this column — while, running 
around it in a spiral direction, from the base to the 
top, are beautiful bas-reliefs, representing the differ- 
ent battles in which he was victor. From th^ Palace 

4* 



42 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

of the Tuileries to the beautiful arch at the farther 
end of the Champs Elys^es, it is all Bonaparte and 
the Revolution. Enter the Madeline Churchy one of 
the most elegant structures in Paris, and you are 
reminded it was built by Napoleon for a temple of 
glory, and it resembles any thing but a temple for 
worship. From one end of the Grecian colonnade 
that goes entirely around it, look across the Champs 
Elys^es to the Chamber of Deputies and the H6tel 
des Invalides, the other side of the Seine, one of 
the most beautiful views of the kind we have ever 
seen, and the Revolution and Bonaparte are still 
before you. The obelisk, behind which the two fount- 
ains are gayly sending their spray into the air, 
stands on the very spot the guillotine occupied during 
the Reign of Terror ; and in the Hotel des Invalides, 
that terminates the prospect beyond the Seine, 
sleeps the mighty Conqueror himself, while around 
him tread the few surviving veterans that once fol- 
lowed him to battle. The reminiscences of popular 
power and fury that meet one at every turn, make 
him feel as if he were treading on the side of a vol- 
cano, that might at any moment begin to heave 
again, and swallow all in its bosom of fire. 

But one morning as I strolled from the Hotel do 
Meurice (the Astor House of Paris,) in search of 
rooms, I stumbled on an object which for a moment 
held me by a deeper spell than any thing I had seen 
in France. In the Rue Victoire, close beside the 
principal baths of the city, stands a small house sev 
eral rods from the street, and approached by a nar 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 43 

row lane. It is situated in the midst of a garden, 
and was the residence of Josephine when the young 
Napoleon first yielded his heart to her charms. The 
young soldier had then never dreamed of the won- 
drous destiny that awaited him, nor had surrendered 
his soul to that wasting ambition which consumed 
every generous quality of his nature, and every pure 
feeling of his heart. Filled with other thoughts than 
those of unlimited dominion, and dreaming of other 
things than fierce battle-fields, he would turn his foot- 
steps hither, to pour the tale of his affections in Jose- 
phine's ear. His heart throbbed more violently 
before a single look and a single voice, than it ever did 
amid the roar of artillery and the sound of falling 
armies. The eye, before which the world quailed at 
last, and the pride of kings went down, fell at the 
gaze of a single woman ; and her flute-like voice 
stirred his youthful blood wilder than the shout of 
"Vive rEmp^reur!" from the enthusiastic legions 
that cheered him as he advanced. Those were the 
purest days of his existence, and we believe the only 
happy ones h^ ever passed. When the crown of an 
emperor pressed his thoughtful forehead, he must 
have felt that it was better to be loved by one devoted 
heart, than be feared by a score of kings. As I 
stood before the humble dwelling, and thought of 
the monuments of Bonaparte's fame that covered 
France and the world, I could not but feel how poor 
a choice he made after all. Surrendering the pure 
joy that springs from aflection, and the heaven of a 
quiet home for the tumult of armies and the crown of 



44 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

thorns which unholy ambition wearSj he wrecked his 
own happiness and soul together. He made life one 
great battle-field, and drove his chariot of war over 
heaps of slain, and up to the axletrees in human 
blood, to gain at last — a grave. He could have had 
that without such labor; and one, too, over which 
does not hang such darkness and gloom as rest on 
his. How often, in the midst of his power, must 
that voice of singular melody, whose tones, it is said, 
would arrest him in the midst of the gayest assembly, 
have fallen on his ear like a rebuking spirit, telling 
him of his baseness, and bringing back faint echoes 
of that life never could live again. 

Going one day to "Pere la Chaise," which is with- 
out the city, on a hill that overlooks the endless field 
of houses, I stumbled on a square column standing 
at the end of the Boulevard beside the Seine, which 
at first puzzled me amazingly. I had no guide-book 
with me — designing to visit "Pere la Chaise" alone 
— ^but as I read the inscriptions upon it, I found I was 
standing on the foundations of the old Bastile. I 
shuddered involuntarily as memory brought back 
that terrible dungeon and its still more terrible over- 
throw. Suddenly, I seemed to hear the shout of 
thousands, as '^ To the Bastile !" rose on the air. 
The wave of insurrection that had been dashing 
from side to side in the city, now took a steady 
course, and surged up around the Bastile. The dun- 
geon of tyranny for ages, it had become peculiarly 
obnoxious to the people, and its doom was sealed. 
Cannon are brought to play on its missive sides, and 



RAMBLES ABOUT PABIS. 45 

a bold mechanic climbs up tbe wall, and amid the 
sbower of shot hews away on the chain that holds 
the drawbridge. Coming with a crash to the ground, 
the multitude rush over it and the Bastile is taken. 
The daughter of the governor is sentenced to be 
burned, but escapes the painful death by the inter- 
position of those who have humanity in them still. 
The governor himself, and many with him, are slain ; 
and their heads, placed on pikes, are carried through 
the streets in triumph. The Bastile is no more, and 
alarm spreads through the court of France. I gazed 
long and thoughtfully on this relic of the Revolu- 
tion, covered over with names, not of those who de- 
fended it, but of those who leveled it to the earth. 
The king does not live who would dare put any other 
names upon it. That was the beginning of the exer- 
tion of physical force in the Eevolution. As I trod 
afterwards the silent walks of the cemetery, and 
looked away three miles to the mighty city, I could 
but think how quickly time erases battle-fields, revo- 
lutions, and emperors from the earth, leaving only 
here and there a monument in their stead, which, in 
its turn, gives way to some other structure, or finally 
falls back to its original elements. I was anxious to 
see the tomb of Abelard and Heloise, and after much 
efi*ort found it. On the marble tablet which covers 
them are wrought two bas-reliefs, lying side by side, 
representing the two lovers. Heloise was a lovely 
and true-hearted woman, but Abelard was a selfish, 
heartless villain, notwithstanding his genius, and the 



46 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

sentimentality of the French, and the romance the 
world has made out of him. 

From this quiet cemetery I visited the Hotel de 
Ville, and lo ! I was again in the midst of the Revo- 
lution. I followed the street leading from it to the 
Church of the Carmelites, calling to mind the Sab- 
bath morning of the 2d of September, 1792. Two 
days before the domiciliary visits had been made. 
For forty-eight hours the barriers of the city had 
been closed, and every door shut in the streets. The 
sound of the busy population had suddenly died 
away — the promenades were empty, the rattling of 
carriages was hushed, and the silence and solitude of 
the sepulchre reigned throughout the vast city, save 
when the fearful echoes were heard of the rapid 
tread of the bloodhounds of the anarchists, and the 
tap of their hammer on every door, as they moved 
along on their mission of death. The paleness of 
despair sits on every countenance, and the throbbing 
heart stops beating, as that hammer-stroke is heard 
on the door of their dwelling. The suspected are to 
be arrested for the safety of the state, and fifteen 
thousand are seized and committed. But what is to 
be done with this army of prisoners ? They cannot 
be tried separately. No, their execution is to be as 
sudden and summary as their arrest, and the Sab- 
bath of the 2d of September is selected as the day of 
their slaughter. The bright sun rose over the city, 
and nature smiled, as she always will, despite the 
actions of man ; but instead of the church-bells call- 
ing the worshipers to the house of God, there goes 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 47 

pealing over the city the terrible tocsin, and the wild 
beat of the generale^ and the rapid alarm-guns — 
making that Sabbath morning as awful as the day of 
judgment. Through every street came pouring the 
excited multitude. Twenty-four priests, moving along 
the street, on their way to the Church of the Abbaye, 
are seized and butchered. Varennes is at the head 
of the mob, and trampling over the corpses and 
spattering the blood over his shoes, kindles into ten- 
fold fury the ferocity he has awakened in the mad- 
dened populace. Maillard, who led the mob of wo- 
men that stormed Versailles, is heard shouting over 
the tumult, '' To the Carmelites !" and " To the Car- 
melites !" is echoed in terrific responses from the 
crowd around him. "To the Carmelites" they go, 
and surge up hke the maddened sea around the de- 
voted church. Two hundred priests are within its 
wall. Finding their hour has come, they rush into 
each other's embrace, and, kneeling, prayed together 
to that God, who seems to have withdrawn his re- 
straining power from man. They are butchered 
around the very altar, and their blood flows in streams 
over the pavement of the church. In the intervals of 
the infuriated shouts the voice of prayer steals on the 
ear, but the next instant it is hushed in death. The 
Archbishop of Aries stands amid this wild scene, 
calm as the Madonna that looks down from the altar 
above him. Thrice the sword smites his face, inflict- 
ing three horrible gashes before he falls, and then he 
dies at the very foot of the cross of Christ. The 
massacre being completed, " To Abbaye !" is the next 



48 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

shout, and the turbulent mass rolls towards the Ab- 
baye. The brave Swiss Guards are first brought out 
and pierced by a thousand pikes. The inhuman yells 
penetrate to the innermost chambers of the prisoners, 
and each one prepares himself to die. The aged 
Sombreuil, governor of the Invalides, is brought out, 
and, just as the bayonet is hfted to pierce him, his 
lovely daughter falls on his neck, and pleads in such 
piteous accents and tears for her father's life, that 
even these monsters are moved with compassion, and 
promise that his hfe shall be spared on condition she 
will drink the blood of aristocrats. A goblet filled 
with the warm blood is presented to her lips, and she 
drains it at a draught. The half-naked murderers 
around, bespattered with brains and blood, shout his 
pardon. The Princess of Lamballe, the friend of the 
unfortunate queen, and the beauty of the court, is 
next led forth, and faints again and again at the hor- 
rible spectacle that meets her gaze. Arising from 
her swoon, a sword-cut opens her head behind, and 
she faints again. Recovering, she is forced to walk 
between two blood-covered monsters over a pavement 
of dead bodies, and then speared on a heap of 
corpses. The raging fiend within them still unsatis- 
fied, they strip the body ; and, after exposing it to 
every indecency and insult that human depravity 
can invent, one leg is rent away and thrust into a 
cannon, and fired off in honor of this jubilee of hell. 
The beautiful head, borne aloft on a gory pike, with 
the auburn tresses clotted with blood and streaming 
down the staff, is waved over the crowd, and made to 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 49 

nod in grim salutation to the fiends that dance in 
horrid mirth around it. " Ca ira ;'' yes, that will do, 
but Grod is not yet dead, nor his laws destroyed. A 
thousand are butchered, but, Robespierre, thou shalt 
yet acknowledge, in other ways than by a magnificent 
fete and pompous declamation, there is a God in 
heaven that rules oyer the afiairs of men ! Thou 
hast awakened elements thou canst not control, and 
raised a storm thou canst not lay again ! And 1 was 
standing on the very spot where these scenes had 
been enacted. The tread of hasty feet were around 
me, and all the hurry and bustle of city hfe. I 
looked on the pavements, but they were not bloody ; 
and on the passing throng, and they were not armed. 
Nay, no one but myself seemed conscious they were 
treading over such fearful ground. They had been 
born, and lived here, and hence could see only com- 
mon walks and pavement around them; while I, a 
stranger, could think of nothing but that terrible 
earthquake that shook France and the world. 

Oh ! how impotent does man and his strifes appear 
after the tumult is over, and the Divine laws are seen 
moving on in their accustomed way. Like the Alpine 
storm and cloud that wrap the steadfast peak, do the 
passions and conflicts of men hide the truth of heaven 
till it seems to have been carried away for ever ; but 
like that Alpine peak when the storm is over, is its 
clear summit seen to repose as calmly against the 
blue sky as if perpetual sunshine had rested on its 
head. 

As I passed over to the " Place du Carrousel/' 

5 



50 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

where the artillery was placed that Eobespierre en- 
deavored in vain to make fire on the Convention 
that voted his overthrow by acclamation, I could 
plainly see how naturally every thing proceeded, from 
the abrogation of the Sabbath, and the renunciation 
of the Deity, to that awful Reign of Terror. Cut a 
nation loose from the restraints of Divine law, and 
there is nothing short of anarchy. Release man from 
the tremendous sway of obligation, and he is a fiend 
at once. Take conscience from him, and put pas- 
sion in its place, and you hurl him as far as Satan 
fell when cast out of heaven. The course of Robes- 
pierre was necessary after he had commenced his 
Jacobinical career. He had destroyed all the means 
by which rulers secure their safety except fear. But 
fear could not be kept up without constant deaths. 
Besides, he thought to relieve himself from his ene- 
mies by destroying them, forgetting that cruelty 
makes foes faster than power can slay them. But 
the hour which must sooner or later come, finally 
arrived, and Paris awoke to her condition. The guil- 
lotine, which had heretofore chopped ofi* only the 
heads of the upper classes, began now to descend on 
the citizens and common people. There seemed no 
end to this indiscriminate slaughter, and the wave 
that had been sent so far, now began to balance for 
its backward march. Robespierre had slain aristo- 
crats, and finally his own companions in blood ; and 
now saw the storm gathering over his own head. 
Marat had gone to his account long before- — Danton, 
Camille, and Des Moulins had followed their murdered 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 51 

fictims to the scaffold, and now, when Robespierre 
should fall, the scene would change. It is sometimes 
singular to see the coincidence of events as if on pur- 
pose to make the truth they would teach more em- 
phatic. After " Down with the tyrant !" which thun- 
dered on the ears of the doomed man from the whole 
Convention, till he had to flee for his life, he went 
to this very H6tel de Ville, where the awful mas- 
sacre of the 2d of September commenced. After 
defending himself with his friends in vain,, against 
the soldiery, the building was surrendered and the 
room of the tyrants entered. There sat Robespierre, 
with his elbows on his knees and his head resting on 
his hands. A pistol-shot fired broke his under jaw, 
and he fell under the table. Couthon made feeble 
efforts to commit suicide, while Le Bas blew out his 
own brains. Robespierre and Couthon, supposed to 
be dead, were dragged by the heels to the Seine, and 
were about to be thrown in, when they were dis- 
covered to be alive, and carried to the Committee of 
General Safety. There, for nine hours, he lay 
stretched on the very table on which he used to sign 
the death-warrants of his victims. What a place 
and what time to ponder. Insults and curses were 
heaped on him, as he lay there bleeding and suffer- 
ing — the only act of humanity extended to him being 
to wipe the foam from his mouth. As if on purpose 
to give more impressiveness to this terrific scene, he 
had on the very blue coat he had worn in pomp and 
pride at the festival of the Supreme Being. It was 
now stained with his own blood, which he tried in 



62 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

vain to stanch. Poor man ! writhing in torture on 
the table where he signed his death-warrants, in the 
very blue coat that made him conspicuous when he 
attempted to re-enthrone the Deity, what a lesson he 
furnishes to infidel man to remotest generations. 
But this was not all ; the guillotine, which had been 
removed, was rolled back to the Place de Revolu- 
tion, so that he and his companions might perish on 
the very spot where they themselves had witnessed 
so many executions of their own commanding. Led 
by my own feelings, I slowly wandered back to the 
Place de Revolution, to witness in imagination the 
closing up of the great tragedy. As Robespierre as- 
cended the scafibld, the blood burst through the band- 
ages that covered his jaw, and his forehead became 
ghastly pale. Curses and imprecations smote his 
ear; and one w^oman, breaking through the crowd, 
exclaimed, " Murderer of all jny kindred, your agony 
fills me with joy ; descend to hell, covered with the 
curses of every mother in France !" As the execu- 
tioner tore the bandage from his face, the under jaw 
fell on his breast, and he uttered a yell of terror that 
froze every heart that heard it with horror. The 
last sounds that fell on his dying ear, were shouts of 
joy that the tyrant was fallen. The people wept in 
joy, when they saw that the monsters that had sunk 
France in blood were no more, and crowded round 
the scafibld embracing each other in transport. One 
poor man came up to the lifeless body of Robespierre, 
and after gazing in silence on it for some time, said, 
in solemn accents, "Yes, Robespierre, there is a 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 53 

God !" There is a God ! was the shriek France 
sent up from round that scaffold, and its echo has 
not since died away on the nations of Europe, and 
shall not till remotest time — for ever uttering in the 
ears of the infidel ruler, "Beware !" 

I have gone over these scenes of the Eevolution 
just as they were suggested to me as I looked on the 
places where they occurred. I never before was so 
impressed with the truth, that an irreligious nation 
cannot long survive as such. Especially in a repub- 
lican government — where physical force is almost 
powerless, and moral means, or none, can restrain 
the passions of men — will the removal of religious 
restraints end in utter anarchy. Men, governing 
themselves, are apt to suppose they can make Divine 
laws as well as human, and adopt the blasphemous 
sentiment ''Vox populi, vox Dei ;'' a sentiment which, 
long acted upon, will bury the brightest republic- that 
ever rose to cheer the heart of man. Rulers may try 
the experiment of ruling without a God, if they like ; 
but the nation will eventually whisper above their 
forms, " There is a God !" 

It was a relief, after I had gone over the localities 
of the Revolution, to throw the subject entirely from 
my mind, and dwell on the more pleasing scenes of 
Paris, at least those that did not call up such deeds 
of horror. No one visits Paris without going to the 
Hotel des Invalides. This, it is well known, is the 
home of the old soldiers of Bonaparte. The poor and 
disabled fragments of his mighty legions rest here, 
at last, in peace. It was a bright summer evening, 

5* 



54 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

just at sunset, that I strolled over the Seine to this 
magnificent edifice. As I entered the outward gate 
into the yard, I saw the bowed and crippled veterans, 
in their old uniforms, limping around among the can- 
non that lay stretching their lazy length along the 
ground — the spoils of Napoleon's victories. I saw 
one beautiful gun, covered with bas reliefs and sculp- 
tured in almost every part with the greatest skill. 
As I stood looking on it, a soldier came up on 
crutches, appearing as if he were willing to satisfy 
my curiosity. I asked him where that cannon was 
taken. He replied from Venice, and, if I remember 
right, added that it was a royal piece. I asked him 
if he ever saw Bonaparte. " yes," he replied, ^'I 
have seen him in battle." He spoke with the greatest 
affection of his old emperor, and I saw that, even 
in death. Napoleon held the same sway over the af- 
fections of his soldiers he was accustomed to wield 
in the day of his power. Sacrificing his men with 
reckless prodigality, they nevertheless clung to him 
with the greatest devotion. As I strolled into the 
inner court, and looked on the place where the ashes 
of the conqueror slept, I could not but be impressed 
with the scene. The sun had gone down over the 
plains of France, and the dimness of twilight was 
already gathering over this sombre building. I was 
alone near the tomb of the mighty dead. Condemn 
as we may the character of Napoleon — and who does 
not ? — read the record an outraged world has written 
against him, till he stands a criminal before heaven 
and earth — still, one cannot find himself beside the 



RAMBLES ABOUT PAEIS. 56 

form that once shook Europe with its tread, without 
the profoundest emotions. But the arm that ruled 
the world lies still ; and the thoughtful forehead on 
which nations gazed to read their destiny, is now only 
a withered skull ; and the bosom that was the home 
of such wild ambition, is full of ashes. 

" Napoleon ! years ago, and that great word — 
Compact of human breath, in hate, and dread, 
And exultation — skied us overhead : 
An atmosphere whose lightning was the sword, 
Scathing the cedars of the world, drawn down 
In burnings, by the metal of a crown. 

" Napoleon ! foemen, while they cursed that name, 
Shook at their own curse; and while others bore, 
Its sound as of a trumpet, on before, 
Brow-fronted legions followed, sure of fame ; 
And dying men, from trampled battle-rods, 
Near their last silence, uttered it for God's. 

" Napoleon ! sages, with high foreheads drooped. 
Did use it for a problem ; children small 
Leaped up as hearing in't their manhood's call : 
Priests blessed it, from their altars over-stooped 
By meek-eyed Christs ; and widows, with a moan, 
Breathed it, when questioned why they sat alone. 

" Napoleon ! 'twas a name lifted high ! 

It met at last God's thunder, sent to clear 
Our compassing and covering atmosphere. 
And opens a clear sight, beyond the sky. 
Of Supreme empire ! This of earth's was done- 
And kings crept out again to feel the sun.^' 

The grave is a reckless leveler ; and he who " met 
at last God's thunder," is only one of the thousands 



56 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

he left on his battle-fields. His fierce onsets, and 
terrible passages, and wasting carnage, and Water- 
loo defeats are all over. Crumbling back to dust 
amid a few old soldiers, left as a mockery of the mag- 
nificent legions he was wont to lead to battle, he 
reads a silent, most impressive lesson on ambition to 
the world. I turned away in the deepening twilight, 
feeling that I would not sleep in Bonaparte's grave 
for Bonaparte's fame. Yet he still exerts a wonder- 
ful influence over the French people, and keeps alive, 
by his very tomb, the remembrance of Waterloo and 
the hatred of the English. 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 57 



CHAPTER IV. 
RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 

MARSHAL SOULT. — GUIZOT. — THE CATACOMBS. 

The Chamber of Deputies had just closed its sit- 
ting as I arrived in Paris, and hence I was denied 
the pleasure of seeing the Commons of France in ses- 
sion, and comparing them with the Lower Houses of 
other constitutional governments. The Chamber of 
Peers, however, was in session, and I frequently 
passed an hour or two in witnessing its deliberations. 
Through the politeness of our minister, I was furnish- 
ed with his own card of entree while in the city, and 
hence obtained a seat in the apartment devoted to 
foreign ambassadors, which gave me an excellent 
point of observation. 

At my first visit to the Chamber of Peers, I was 
amused with a rencontre I had with an Englishman 
and his wife. They were of the lower orders, and 
evidently perfectly bewildered in the mazes of the 
Palace of Luxembourg. I was ascending the stairs 
to the Chamber, when I met them coming down. 
The woman had learned a few French phrases, and 
was therefore spokesman for her husband. " Parlez 
vous Frangaise?" said she, in a broad accent, and 



58 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

with a prolongation of the last syllable, which was 
not necessary to tell me she was an Englishwoman, 
for she bore evidences of that on every feature and 
movement. 

"I speak English tolerably well," I replied. 

" Oh !" she exclaimed, " do you speak English ?" 
. "Yes." 

"Well,'' said she, in the most dolorous tone, "we 
came here to see the paintings in the palace, and a 
man below took away my parasol, and gavfe me this 
little 'piece of wood, and told me to go up stairs, and 
they wont let me in." 

It is customary all over Europe to take from a per- 
son his cane, umbrella, or whatever he may have in 
the shape of a stick, when he enters a gallery of 
paintings or any public chamber, so that he may not 
deface the walls or pictures ; and give him a ticket, 
so that he can reclaim it when he returns. The man 
guarding the entrance to the Chamber of Peers had 
thus taken from th& good Englishwoman her parasol, 
and she being repulsed by the janitor of the gallery, 
and unable to speak French, was in a perfect puzzle. 
I told her she had been endeavoring to gain an en- 
trance to the Chamber of Peers, which she could not 
do without a permit from the ambassador of England, 
She seemed quite shocked at her audacity, and asked 
what she should do. I pointed out to her the direc- 
tion to the gallery of paintings, and left her thanking 
me in good broad English. 

The Chamber of Peers is arranged like our two 
houses of Congress. The seats are semicircular, 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 59 

bending around a common centre, where the presi- 
dent sits. The members are all dressed in diplomatic 
coats, and present to an American the appearance of 
an assembly of military officers. The Seance had 
not commenced as I took my place, and the peers 
were slowly dropping in one after another, and tak- 
ing their respective seats. There was the Duke de 
Broglie, Guizot, and others, and last of all, in came, 
limping, old Marshal Soult. He looks like an old 
warrior,, with his dark features, clear eye, and stern 
expression. He is about the middle size, though 
stout, with a bald spot on the top of his head. His 
pantaloons were very full, made so evidently to con- 
ceal his bow legs. It was a useless expedient, how- 
ever, for the Marshal's lower extremities form a per- 
fect parenthesis which nothing but petticoats can ever 
conceal. As he stood a moment, and cast his eye 
over the Chamber, I thought I could detect in his 
cool, quiet glance, and self-possessed bearing, the 
stern old warrior, that had stood the rock of so many 
battle-fields. As he limped along to his seat, my 
mind involuntarily ran over some of the most import- 
ant events of his history. Born of humble parents, 
entering the army as a private soldier, with musket in 
hand, he rose to be Marshal of the Empire, Duke of 
Dalmatia, and Peer of France. He early exhibited 
his wonderful coolness in the hour of danger. At 
the battle of Fleurus, General Marceau commanding 
the right wing of the army under Lefebvre, was 
routed and forced to fall back. In his agony, he 
sent to Soult for four battalions that he might renew 



60 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

his lost position. Soult refused. " Give them to 
me !" exclaimed the indignant and mortified Marceau, 
"or I will blow my brains out." Soult coolly replied 
that, to do it, would endanger the entire division. 
Being then a mere aid-de-camp, and unknown, his 
refusal astonished Marceau, and he asked, in a rage, 
"Who are you?" "Whoever I am," replied the 
imperturbable young soldier, " I am calm, which you 
are not ; do not kill yourself, but lead on your men 
to the charge, and you shall have the four battalions 
as soon as we can spare them." His advice had 
scarcely been given before the enemy was upon them, 
and side by side these two men raged through the 
battle like lions. After it was over, Marceau held 
out his hand to Soult, saying, " Colonel, forgive the 
past ; you have this day given me a lesson which I 
shall never forget. You have in fact gained the 
battle." 

This is a fair illustration of Soult's character. 
Cool, collected, and self-reliant, the tumult of battle, 
and the chaos of defeat, never disturbed his percep- 
tions, or confused his judgment. At Austerhtz, he 
did the same thing to Napoleon. As Bonaparte gave 
him the command of the centre that day, he simply 
said, " As for you, Soult, I have only to say, act as 
you always do." In the heat and terror of battle, 
an aid-de-camp burst in a headlong gallop into the 
presence of Soult, bearing orders from the Emperor 
that he should immediately carry the height of Prat- 
zen. " I will obey the Emperor's commands as soon 
as I can," replied the chieftain, "but this is not the 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS 61 

proper time." Bonaparte was in a perfect fury at 
his answer, and sent another aid-de-camp with a pe- 
remptory order, but before he could deliver it " the 
proper time" had arrived, and the awful column of 
Soult was in motion, and in the next moment its head 
was enveloped in the smoke of cannon, and in a few 
minutes after, torn and mangled, appeared on the 
crest of the hill, where it struggled two hours for 
victory, and won it. Soult had delayed his charge 
because the enemy were extending their lines, and 
thus weakening the centre. Bonaparte saw at once 
the reason of his delay, and struck with admiration 
at his behavior, soon after rode up to him, and, in 
the presence of his whole staff, exclaimed, '' Marshal, 
I account you the ablest tactician in my empire." 
It was Soult' s cannon that thundered over the grave 
of Sir John Moore, who fell at Corunna, and the 
noble-hearted Marshal inscribed a memorial to his 
brave opponent on the spot. He was in the carnage 
at Waterloo, and there, on that wild field, saw the 
star of Bonaparte set for ever. 

As he slowly limped to his seat, I could not but 
gaze on him with feelings of the deepest interest. 
On what wild scenes that dark eye had looked, and 
in what fierce fights that now aged form had moved. 
The memories of such a man must.be terrible; and 
what fearful scenes lie between him and his youth ! 
A word, an allusion to the victories of Bonaparte — 
the standards taken from the enemy, and now droop- 
ing over the president's head — the pictures on the 
walls — must frequently recall to him the fierce-fought 

6 



62 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

fields ; and, forgetful of the business that is passing, 
and the beings around him, — on his aged ear will come 
the roar of battle, and on his flashing eye the shock of 
armies — the fierce onset — the wild retreat — the route, 
and the victory. Among the last remaining props of 
Napoleons's -empire, he too is fast crumbling away. 
He has escaped the sword of battle, but he cannot 
escape the hand of Time. 

I might have thus mused for an hour over Soult 
and his wonderful career, had not my attention been 
aroused by the call of the Chamber to order. There 
was no business of importance to be transacted, and 
I amused myself in studying the faces of the peers 
below me. Marquis de Boissy has put himself at 
the head of the opposition, and seems intent on mak- 
ing a fool of himself. An able man in his position 
could accomplish much good ; but he, by his foohsh 
objection to every thing ^ and ridiculous, nonsensical 
remarks, awakens only derision. On his feet at 
every opportunity, he seems to think that the sure 
road to fame is to talk. He is a conceited, vain man, 
carrying in his very physiognomy his weak character. 
Sometimes he would run ashore in his speech, and 
utterly at a loss what next to say, would hesitate, and 
drawl out "maintenant," which would frequently 
draw a titter from the house. These exhibitions of 
contempt did not efi'ect him at all, and he would 
flounder on to another '' maintenant." At length he 
became abusive, and uttered sentiments that brought 
down murmurs of scorn and the rebuke of the presi- 
dent. Making some disgraceful charge against the 



KAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 63 

peers, I forget now what, I heard the heavy voice of 
Soult, muttering in scornful tones, " Comrae un pair 
de France !" At length the foreign affairs came on 
the tapis, and in the course of discussion, Guizot, as 
Minister of Foreign Affairs, was severely assailed for 
some measures he had adopted. The remarks were 
of a nature calculated to arouse the minister, and I 
saw, notwithstanding his apparent nonchalance, that 
he sat uneasy in his place. The member was not 
yet in his seat, when Guizot arose, and in a few sen- 
tences said, he would reply to these charges on the 
morrow. I need not say I was at the opening of the 
session the next day. The Paris papers had an- 
nounced that Guizot was to speak, and the Chamber 
was crowded with spectators. He ascended the tri- 
bune or desk in front of the president's chair, and 
launched at once into the very heart of his subject. 
Guizot is about the middle size, partially bald, and 
of pale complexion. His eye, which is piercing, in- 
dicates either an unamiable disposition, or a temper 
soured by the difficulties and opposition he has been 
compelled to encounter in his progress. He must be 
of a very nervous temperament, for all his movements 
are rapid, and his speech vehement. As he stood in 
front of the audience and commenced his speech, he 
held a white pocket-handkerchief in his right hand, 
and began to gesture with his left. As he proceeded, 
he snatched his handkerchief out of his right hand 
with his left, and gestured with the former. He kept 
up this process of snatching his handkerchief, first 
from one hand and then the other, and gesturing Vrith 



64 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

the vacant one till he finished his speech. He ap 
peared wholly unconscious that he was doing it, and 
it seemed the result of mere nervous excitement. 
There was not a particle of grace in one single gesture 
he made, and I do not remember that he once raised 
his arm to a right angle with his body. His whole 
body worked, and all his gestures seemed mere mus- 
cular twitches. He does not talk like a Frenchman. 
There is no circumlocution, no rhetorical flourishes 
in his sentences, no effort at mere effect, but he goes 
straight to his object. He uses different French, 
also, from the other speakers. He has none of a 
Frenchman's volubility. His sentences are all com- 
pact, and his words sound more like Saxon words. 
Indeed, I think there is more of the Englishman than 
Frenchman in his composition. There is an apparent 
contradiction between the man and the language he 
uses. With a Saxon soul, he is forced to bend it to 
the wordy language of his native country. I have 
always thought it would appear strange to hear such 
men as Ney, Soult, Macdonald, and Bonaparte, talk 
French. 

Guizot has risen from obscurity to his present proud 
eminence by the force of his talents alone. "VYith 
rank and power to combat, he has steadily won his 
way through all opposition, and is, beyond doubt, the 
ablest minister of the Court of Louis Philippe. 

The Garden of the Luxembourg, with its terraces, 
orange-trees, magnificent avenues, almost endless 
walks, statuary, and lofty trees, is a beautiful spot. 
Marks of revolutionary fury are every where visible 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 65 

in it, but that which interested me most was a vacant 
spot just outside the garden railing, where Marshal 
Ney was shot after the overthrow of Napoleon at 
Waterloo. The vengeance of the allied powers de- 
manded some victims ; and the intrepid Ney, who had 
well-nigh put the crown again on Bonaparte's head 
at Waterloo, was to be one of them. Condemned to 
be shot, he was led to this spot on the morning of the 
7th of December, and placed in front of a file of 
soldiers, drawn up to kill him. One of the officers 
stepped up to bandage his eyes, but he repulsed him, 
saying, " Are you ignorant that for twenty-five years 
I have been accustomed to face both ball and bullet !" 
He then lifted his hat above his head, and with the 
same calm voice that had steadied his columns so 
frequently in the roar and tumult of battle said, " I 
declare before God and man, that I never betrayed 
my country ; may my death render her happy. Vive 
la France !" He then turned to the soldiers, and 
striking his hand on his heart, gave the order, " Sol- 
diers, fire !" A simultaneous discharge followed, and 
the "bravest of the brave" sank to rise no more. 
" He who had fought five hundred battles for France, 
Qot one against her, was shot as a traitor!" As I 
looked on the spot where he fell, I could not but sigh 
over his fate. True, he broke his oath of allegiance 
• — so did others, carried away by their attachment to 
Napoleon, and the enthusiasm that hailed his approach 
to Paris. Still, he was no traitor. 

Near this spot stands the .Observatory, and, a few 
steps from it, the ""^ Hospice des Enfans trouve's et 

6* 



66 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

des Orplielins, or foundling and orphan hospital. 
This was founded more than two hundred years ago, 
and at the present time is under admirable arrange- 
ment. Formerly, there was a box called "touVj' 
fixed in the wall, and turning on a pivot, into which 
an infant was dropped by any one that wished, — no 
questions being asked, and the face of the person 
bringing the child not seen. This was found to work 
badly, for it increased the number of illegitimate 
children, and also brought in from the country many 
infants whom their parents did not wish to support. 
There was another evil connected with this arrange- 
ment. A poor parent would bring her infant and 
deposit it in this clandestine manner, and then, after 
a few days, retui^n and introduce herself as a nurse 
from the country ; and by a little connivance could 
get her child back again, and receive pay also as a 
nurse. Restrictions are now in force checking this 
imposition. There is one evil attending this new 
arrangement, however — infanticide is more common, 
indeed the crime has increased almost twofold. There 
are yearly received into this hospital nearly five thou- 
sand children, of which over foui' thousand are illegi- 
timate : a sad comment on the morals of the French 
capital. These are immediately put out to nurse in 
various parts of the country, so that there are gene- 
rally less than two hundred in the hospital at any 
one time. ' Early in the morning, this multitude of 
infants is placed in one grand reception room, called 
La QrecJie^ where the different physicians visit them, 
and assign them to the different infirmaries, accord- 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 67 

ing as their case demands. The medical department 
is divided into four separate branches — one for cases 
of ordinary sickness ; one for surgical cases ; one for 
measles, and one for ophthalmic cases. Cradles are 
arranged in rows around the outer edge of the room, 
against the walls, in which the little creatures are 
placed, while nurses are bending over them in every 
direction. In front of the fire a bed is placed, at an 
inclined plane, where the more sickly are laid ; while 
little chairs are arranged in a snug, warm corner for 
those which are strong enough to sit up a portion of 
the time. Cleanliness and order prevail every where, 
and no child is allowed to suffer from neglect. No- 
thing can be more sad yet more interesting than the 
spectacle presented by this large number of infants. 
Bereft of parental care — cast off from their mothers' 
bosoms before they are old enough to know them, 
and left to the tender mercies of strangers, they are 
still unconscious of their condition, and ignorant of 
the evil world that awaits their entrance into it. 
Neither their smiles nor their tears have any thing to 
do with their position in life. Abandoned, deserted, 
forlorn, they claim twofold sympathy — from their in- 
nocence and their unconsciousness of evil. 

There are several hospitals and infirmaries in this 
neighborhood, and near by also are the famous Cata- 
combs of Paris. The catacombs were ancient quar- 
ries, from which stone was taken for building, and 
chalk, and clay, and sand, and limestone. In 1784, 
the Council of State, wishing to clear several ceme- 



68 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

teries of the dead, ordered the bones to be tumbled 
into these old quarries. At first, they were thrown 
in pell-jnell, like unloading a cart of stone, but those 
having the management of the business, found they 
would gain space by paching them in layers. Shafts 
were sunk from the upper surface to the quarries, and 
props and pillars placed under the churches and edi- 
fices that stood over this subterranean world. These 
quarries were consecrated into catacombs with great 
solemnity, and then, on the 17th of April, 1786, the 
work of clearing the cemeteries began. It was all 
done in the night-time ; and as soon as darkness drew 
its curtains over the city, might be seen a constant 
procession of black cars, covered with palls, going 
from the cemeteries to the quarries. Priests followed 
from behind, chanting the service of the dead. As 
they approached these shafts or openings, the cars 
emptied their contents into the cavity and wheeled 
back. Bones of priests, robbers, the gay and the 
wretched, men, women, and children, were piled in 
inextricable confusion together, to await the summons 
of the last trumpet, and the collecting power of the 
breath of God. What a startling truth is that of the 
resurrection of the dead, and what faith it requires 
to believe it, as one stands over such heaps of com- 
mingled and decaying bones ! Among the monu- 
ments of the dead carted here, was the leaden coffin 
of the famous or mfamous Madame Pompadour. 
Since they began to pile up the bones, the workmen 
engaged in it have made some curious arrangements. 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 69 

Some of the apartments are built around with bones 
so as to form chapels, with altars, and vases, made of 
bones also, and stuck over with skulls of different 
sizes as ornaments. In the main gallery, the bones 
are piled up like a wall, with the arm, leg, and thigh 
bones in front, to give it the appearance of uniformity 
and consistency, while at regular intervals three rows 
of skulls are inserted, stretching along the face of the 
ghostly structure, to give greater beauty and variety 
to the appearance. Behind this wall the smaller 
bones are pitched pell-mell, like so much rubbish. 
Not only the ancient cemeteries have been emptied 
here, but the massacres of the Revolution hm-ried 
their slain into this great receptacle of the dead. It 
is computed that the bones of at least three millions 
of people repose in these ancient quarries. They are 
situated in the southern part of the city, and do not 
approach the gay Paris of the present day. The 
palaces of the Tuileries and Louvre, the Champs Ely- 
sdes, and the Garden of the Tuileries, the Boulevard, 
&c., are all on one side of the Seine. Luxembourg 
is on the other side of the river, and is almost as much 
by itself as Brooklyn. These great excavations are 
under this part of the city, running under the Pan- 
theon, the Luxembourg palace and garden, the Odeon, 
the Val de Grace, and several streets. Two hundred 
acres or more are supposed to be thus undermined. 
One-sixth of the whole surface of Paris is hollow be- 
neath, and may yet answer all the purposes of an 
earthquake to ingulf the dissolute city. 



70 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

This Paris is a strange city. What with its me- 
mentos of popular fury, its temples of fame, and 
arches of victory, and catacombs, and gardens, and 
gayety, and wickedness, it furnishes more objects of 
interest, and more phases of life, than any city I 
ever visited. 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 71 



CHAPTER V. 
RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 

THE ABATTOIRS, — ISLE ST. LOUIS. — THE BASTILE. 

Nothing illustrates the effect of a constant city 
life on the physical .condition of men more than the 
statistics of Paris respecting its population. It has 
always seemed to me that it was impossible to elevate 
our race so long as they would crowd into vast cities, 
where the whole system of life was to make the rich 
richer, the poor poorer, and the degraded still more 
so. God has spread out the earth to be inhabited ; 
and has not rolled the mountains into ridges along its 
bosom, and channeled it with magnificent rivers, and 
covered it with verdure, and fanned it with healthful 
breezes, to have man shut himself up in city walls, 
and bury himself in dirty cellars and stagnant alleys. 
It is worth our consideration, the fact that every large 
city on the face of the earth has sunk in ruins ; and 
gone down, too, from the degeneracy, corruption, and 
crime of its inhabitants. I am not speaking against 
cities as such, but point to history to ask whether 
such enormous overgroivn structures are desirable ; or, 
if necessary, to inquire whether it is not indispensable 
to have them broken up by large squares and open 



72 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

commons in every part. Large, close-packed cities 
are always corrupt, and I do not see how it is to be 
prevented. But, independent of all this, health, nay, 
the continuance of the race, forbids this self-immuring 
^yithin city walls. The free open air of the country, 
the beautiful face of nature, the strong and manly 
exercise it requires, are all so many props of our sys- 
tems, and indispensable to the growth and manhood 
of population. These remarks have been drawn forth 
from a singular fact respecting Paris. From statis- 
tics, carefully collected and made out, it is found that 
all families residing constantly in the city, become, 
after a few generations, utterly extinct — slowly but 
surely disappearing. So undeviating is this law of 
life, that not more than one thousand persons in all 
Paris can reckon back their ancestors in the male 
line, to the time of Louis XIII. I mention the " male 
line," because city life is found to have a worse effect 
on men than on women. Those who retire to the 
country in summer exhibit this decay less ; but still, 
they too show the injurious effect of city dissipation, 
luxury, and extravagance on the physical frame. 
The families of nobles, who reside on their manors in 
the country during the summer, and come to Paris 
in the winter, have degenerated from their ancient 
strength and stature. It is said that a young man in 
Paris, of the third and fourth generation, has the ap- 
pearance, both in form and manners, of a woman. He 
is w^eak, effeminate, puerile in mind as well as body, 
and scarcely ever has children that live. So universal 
is this effect of constant city life seen to be, that it 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 73 

is laid down as a certain rule, that those who make 
their permanent residence in Paris are doomed to ex- 
tinction as certainly as if a decree had gone out 
against them. What a lesson this is on city life, and 
what a defence of the arrangements of Heaven against 
those of man ! He may seek pleasures and profit in 
the city;^ and rail against the solitude and dullness of 
the country ; but his body, by its slow decay, and its 
urgent demand for air, relaxation, and exercise, con- 
founds his arguments, and clears Nature from the 
dishonor he would cast upon her. 

But to return to our rambles. Paris is divided 
into twelve arrondissements, or sections ; and let us 
wander to the northern suburbs of the city, in the 
eight arrondissements, to see one of the Abattoirs, or 
slaughter-houses of Paris. Previous to Napoleon's 
reign, cattle were driven through the streets, as in 
New York; and there were numberless private 
slaughter-houses in every part of the city. The filth 
with such a custom accumulated in the streets, and 
the unhealthy effluvia it sent through some of the most 
thickly populated parts of the town, caused Bona- 
parte to abohsh it altogether, and establish in the 
place of private slaughter-houses five great public 
ones, called Abattoirs, at an expense of more than 
three millions of dollars. These are immense afi'airs 
— those of Popincourt and Montmartre are each com- 
posed of sixty-four slaughter-houses. As a specimen 
of the largest of these, take the Abattoir of Popin- 
court. It was erected twenty-six years ago, and is 
composed of tiventy -three piles of buildings, erected 

7 



74 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

on a sloping ground, to allow every thing to be carried 
away without diflSculty. It is surrounded by a wall 
half a mile in circumference, which gives to it the 
appearance of a fortress, where men, rather than 
dumb beasts, are slaughtered. In the centre of this 
little village of butchers, is a court four hundred and 
thirty-eight feet long, and two hundred and ninety- 
one broad, lined on each side by four immense build- 
ings, separated from each other by roads that go 
straight through to the walls. Each of these struc- 
tures is a hundred and forty-one feet long, and nine- 
ty-six broad, divided in their turn by a broad court, 
flagged with stones, on each side of which stand eight 
slaughter-houses, for the separate butchers. Above 
are attics for drying the skin, storing the tallow, &c. 
Thus we have, first, the large inclosure, then the 
twenty-three buildings, among which are the four 
great slaughter-houses. Within these four huge 
structures are sixteen smaller butcheries, eight on a 
side of the flagged and covered court, running through 
their centres ; making in all sixty-four. Thus they 
stand, building within building, constituting a very 
imposing afi*air for a butchery. Besides these, there 
are sheep-folds, and stables, and hay-lofts, and places 
for melting tallow, and watering-places for the cattle, 
and depots for the hides, and immense reservoirs of 
water. The slaughtering is all done in the afternoon, 
and the meat taken to the market-places at night. As 
I remarked, there are five of these abattoirs in Paris, 
and some idea may be got of the immense quantity of 
meat the French capital daily consumes from the 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 76 

average quantity furnislied by the single one I have 
described above. Upwards of four hundred oxen, 
three hundred cows, and two thousand sheep are slain 
in it every week. Eighteen families reside in this 
single abattoir, exclusive of the butchers and their 
assistants. 

But let us re-enter the city ; and, as we slowly loiter 
back towards the Champs Elys^es, let us turn into 
the " AUee des Veuves," or Widows' Alley. It was 
once the custom, in Paris, for widows in deep mourn- 
ing to shun all the public promenades. But there 
was a solitary and sombre avenue, leading away from 
the farther extremity of the Qhamps Elysees to the 
Seine, where the rich and elegant widows of the 
capital could drive in their splendid carriages, with- 
out violating the code of fashionable life. This street 
soon became the general resort of wealthy widows, 
which drew such a quantity of admirers, not to say 
speculators after them, that it soon became one of 
the most thronged promenades of the city. It took 
the name of the Widows' Alley, which it has retained 
ever since. 

Following the Seine upward through the city, 
along the Quai, we pass the Garden and Palace of 
the Tuileries, the Palace of the Louvre, the Place de 
Hotel de Ville, and come to the bridge of Louis 
Philippe, which crosses the Isle of St. Louis. The 
Rue St. Louis cuts this island in two lengthwise, and 
as we stroll along, stop a moment at No. 2d — that is 
the Hotel Lambert, in which Voltaire planned his 
Henriade, and where Bonaparte had a long and fear- 



76 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

ful conversation with his ministerj Montalivet, after 
the star of his glory had set amid the smoke and car- 
nage of Waterloo, and the night — long, dark night 
— of his reward had come. Fleeing from the disas- 
trous plain, on which his trampled crown lay, followed 
by the roar of cannon that thundered after his fugi- 
tive army, he had hurried with headlong speed to 
Paris, the bearer of his own overthrow. The Chamber 
of Deputies was thrown into the utmost agitation. 
The allied army was marching on the city, while 
there were no troops with which to defend it. " Bo- 
naparte must abdicate,'' was the general feeling, 
strengthened by the firm support given it by La- 
fayette. Prince Lucien accused him of ingratitude 
to the distressed emperor. " You accuse me of want- 
ing gratitude to Napoleon," replied Lafayette; ''have 
you forgotten what we have done for him ? have you 
forgotten that the bones of our children, of our 
brothers, every where attest our fidelity ; in the sands 
of Africa, on the shores of the Guadalquiver, and the 
Tagus, on the banks of the Vistula, and in the frozen 
deserts of Muscovy ? During more than ten years, 
three millions of Frenchmen have perished for a man 
who wishes still to struggle against all Eui^ope. We 
have done enough for him. Now our duty is to save 
the country." "Let him abdicate, — let him abdi- 
cate," was the response that met the ear of the dis- 
mayed Lucien^ and he hastened to his imperial brother 
with the disastrous news. He went into a storm of 
passion, and refused to listen a moment to the request. 
Lafayette then declared if he did not, he should move 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 77 

his dethronement. Bonaparte saw that his hour had 
come, and he promised to resign his crown and his 
throne. He was lost, and there was no redemption. 
It was in this state of anguish, and mortification, and 
fear, that he came to this H6tel, and in the large gal- 
lery had a long and earnest interview with Montalivet. 
He talked of the past — of Waterloo — of the Depu- 
ties of France — of Europe — of the world. He had 
lost none of his fierte of manner by his misfortunes, 
none of his stern and independent feelings. He railed 
on each in turn, and then spoke of America as his 
final asylum. Europe could not hold him in peace ; 
besides, he hated his enemies too deeply to surrender 
his person into their power. But even this escape 
was denied him, and he was compelled to fling him- 
self into the arms of England. 

But one cannot look upon this gallery, lined with 
pictures, where the terror of the world strode back- 
wards and forwards in agony, without the profound- 
est emotion. . From a charity boy, at the military 
school of Brienne, he had risen by the force of his 
genius to the throne of France. His nod had been 
law to an empire, and crowns the gifts he bestowed 
on his family. Mighty armies had followed him as 
he walked the trembling soil of Europe, but now 
there were none to do him reverence. He paced to 
and fro, the tread of his heavy heel echoing through 
the silent apartment, filled, not as heretofore, with 
vast designs of conquest, and absorbed with the 
mighty future that- beckoned him on, but engrossed 
with anxiety about his personal safety. His throne, 

7* 



78 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

empire, and armies hid all crumbled away before 
him, and he knew not which way to turn for escape. 
The Emperor had become the fugitive — the conqueror 
of a hundred battle-fields left alone, 

" The arbiter of others' fate, 
A suppliant for his own." 

Backwards and forwards the mighty-souled warrior 
strode, addressing, in his earnest, energetic manner, 
his desponding minister — now proposing this and now 
that measure, yet turning from each as a forlorn hope. 
Untamed, and unsubdued as ever, he chafed hke a 
lion in the toils, but the net that inclosed him could 
not be rent. 

There is another event connected with this street 
which is more known. It was here, in the time of 
Charles V., that the famous battle took place be- 
tween Chevalier de Macaire and the dog of Montar- 
gis, so often cited as an illustration of the sagacity 
and faithfulness of dogs. Aubry de Montdidr^r had 
been murdered in a forest near Paris, and buried at 
the foot of a tree. His dog immediately lay down 
on the grave and remained there for days, until 
driven away by hunger. He then went to the house 
of one of Aubry 's friends, and began to howl most pit- 
eously. The poor famished creature would cease his 
howling only long enough to swallow the food that 
was thrown him, and then re-commence. At length, 
he seized his master's friend by the cloak, and en- 
deavoured to pull him along in the direction from 
whence he had come. The friend's suspicion became 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 79^ 

excited by the actions of the dog, as he remembered 
Aubry had been missing for several days, and so he 
followed him. On coming to the tree where the 
body was buried, the dog began to howl most furi- 
ously, and paw the ground. Digging down, they 
found the body of the master, with marks of violence 
upon him. Not long after this, the dog, meeting the 
Chevalier de Macaire in the streets, flew at his 
throat, and could hardly be forced from his grasp. 
Every time afterwards that he met him, he rushed on 
him with the same ferocity. This happened once 
in the presence of the king, and suspicions at length 
became excited that he was the murderer of the dog's 
master. In accordance with the spirit of those times, 
the king ordered that there should be a trial by bat- 
tle between the Chevalier and the dog, or, as it was 
called, " Jiigement de Dieu^' — -judgment of God, 
Lists were accordingly prepared on this spot, then 
uninhabited, and Macaire, armed with a bludgeon, 
was to defend himself against the dog, which had a 
kennel in which to retreat. As soon as the faithful 
creature was at liberty, he made at the murderer of 
his master, and, avoiding his blows, ran round and 
round him till an opportunity offered, and then made 
a sudden spring at his throat. Fetching him to the 
ground, he held him there till he confessed his guilt 
before the king. He was afterwards executed, and 
the dog nourished with the greatest care and affec- 
tion. 

Taking a turn by the Hotel de Ville, and passing 
on towards Pere la Chaise, we come to the Place de 



80 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

la Bastille. I have referred to this before in passing, 
and speak of it now to describe the monument erect- 
ed on the site of the old prison, and the grand de- 
sign, framed by Napoleon, respecting it. The old 
moat is converted into a basin for boats passing 
through the canal that skh-ts its ancient foundations. 
But I never looked on the site of this old prison, the 
first object of popular vengeance in Paris, when the 
earthquake throes of the Revolution began to be felt 
in the shuddering city, without recalling to mind 
Carlyle's description of the storming of it. In the 
midst of the uproar of the multitude that surged like 
the sea round the rock-fast structure — the rattle of 
musketry, interrupted by the heavy booming of can- 
non, and groans of the dying — one Louis Tournay, a 
mechanic, was seen to mount the walls with his huge 
axe. Amid the bullets that rattled like hailstones 
about him, he smote away on the ponderous chain of 
the drawbridge, till it parted, and the bridge fell, 
making a causeway over which the maddened popu- 
lace streamed. In describing this scene, Carlyle 
says : " On, then, all Frenchmen that have hearts 
in their bodies ! Roar with all your throats of car- 
tilage and metal — ye sons of liberty ! stir spasmodi- 
cally whatsoever of utmost faculty is in your soul and 
body, or spirit ; for it is the hour. Smite thou, 
Louis Tournay, cartwright of Marais, old soldier of 
the regiment Dauphiii^ — smite at that outer draw- 
bridge chain, though the fiery hail whistle around 
thee ! Never, over nave or felloe, did thy axe strike 
such a stroke. Down with it man, to Orcus ! let the 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 81 

whole accursed edifice sink thither, and Tyranny be 
swallowed up for ever. Mounted, some say, on the 
roof of the guard-room, some on bayonets stuck into 
joints of the wall, Louis Tournay smites, — brave 
Aubin Bonnemere (also an old soldier) seconding 
him;, the chain yields, breaks; the huge drawbridge 
slams down, thundering." This memorable event in 
the Revolution, Bonaparte designed to immortalize 
by building a splendid monument on the site of the 
overthrown prison. An arch over the canal was to 
bear a huge bronze elephant, with a tower on his 
back, in all seventy-two feet high. The legs of this 
coUossal elephant were to be six feet in diameter, in 
one of which was to be a staircase leading to the 
tower on his back — the whole to be a fountain, with 
the water pouring from the enormous trunk. The 
plaster model for the work stands there now, a won- 
der in itself. If it had been finished according to 
the design, it would have been a beautiful, though 
strange monument. After Bonaparte's fall, the plan 
was abandoned, though the model elephant still stands 
there, slowly wearing away under the storms that are 
constantly beating upon it. At the Restoration, it 
was designed to build a colossal representation of 
the city of Paris in its place. But after the three 
days' revolution of 1830, and the accession of Louis 
Philippe to the throne, the present structure was 
commenced and finished. The arch thrown over the 
canal by Napoleon was retained, and an immense 
bronze column rises from it a hundred and thirty feet 
into the air. A spiral staircase leads to the top, on 



82 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

wliicli is placed a figure representing the Genius of 
France standing in the position of the flying Mer- 
cury. On one half of this pillar are written in ver- 
tical lines, and in gilt letters, the names of those 
who fell in the storming of the Bastile, and on the 
other half, the names of those who fell in the famous 
three days of July, 1830. At the base, by each 
corner, is placed a Gallic cock, supporting laurel 
wreaths, and between them bas-reliefs, inscriptions, 
&c. The cost of the whole is about two hundred thou- 
sand dollars. 

Thus do the kings of France honor the Revolution, 
and are compelled to, which shows how supreme the 
popular will still is in France. 

From the Place de la Bastile, let us wander, as it 
is a bright, balmy day of summer, to the beautiful 
eminence of Pere la Chaise. I have spoken of this 
cemetery before, but one wants to behold it again 
and again, and sees new beauties and new objects of 
interest with each repeated visit. This cemetery 
covers a hundred acres, and contains the tombs of 
fourteen thousand persons. It has been open over 
forty years, and it is estimated that, during that 
time, twenty millions of dollars have been expended 
on monuments alone. There are three kinds of 
graves in the^cemetery — perpetual graves, temporary 
graves, and fosses communes^ literally translated, 
common ditches. The sleepers in the first are never 
disturbed; their wealth or their fame has secured 
them a permanent resting-place till the final trumpet 
shall invade their repose, and mingle perpetual, tern- 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 83 

porary, and common graves together. Perpetual 
graves ! What an appellation ! Time recognizes 
no such perpetuity, and the interval of a few cen- 
turies will make but little difference with the sleepers 
there. 

The fosses communes are trenches four and a half 
feet deep, into which the poor are gratuitously buried 
— packed, with only a thin layer of earth between 
them, one upon another. The poor of this world 
outnumber the rich, and even in their graves exhibit 
the distinctions wealth makes among the living. But 
they are not allowed to rest undisturbed, even in their 
crowded sepulchres. In the clayey soil of which the 
cemetery is composed, five years are deemed sufficient 
to secure the decomposition of the bodies, and so, at 
the end of that time, the spade crushes through their 
coffins and mouldering bones, and other poor are 
packed amid their fragments. Thus, every five years, 
are the temporary graves, and the fosses communes 
invaded, and generations mingled with generations in 
inextricable confusion. 

The magnificent monuments here seem endless. 
Among them are those of Bonaparte's celebrated 
marshals. Here is one to the fierce Kellerman, to 
Lefebvre, Marshal Ney, the headlong Davoust, and 
the intrepid Massena. 

After wandering through this city of tombs, and 
becoming wearied with the endless inscriptions that 
meet the eye at every step, and then refreshed with 
the surpassingly beautiful view that stretches away 
towards the Seine, winding its silver chain round the 



84 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

mighty French capital, let us stroll to the Rue de 
Picpus, for here, at No. 15, in a small cemetery- 
sleeps Lafayette, beside his noble-hearted wife, and 
his relations. A simple, unostentatious monument 
marks the spot where the hero, and patriot, and phi- 
lanthropist sleeps. He needs no towering monument 
and eulogistic epitaph. His deeds are his monument, 
and his life of self-sacrifice and virtue his glorious 
epitaph. 



KAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 85 



CHAPTER VI. 
RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 

PALACES AND PRISONS OF PARIS. 

There can scarcely be two things more dissimilar 
in their outward appearance and inward arrangement 
than a prison and a palace, yet in Paris one associates 
them together more frequently than any thing else. 
In this gay capital, the palace has not only frequently 
been the prison of its inmates, but the portico to a 
gloomier dungeon. In the Revolution, a palace was 
the most dangerous residence one could occupy; 
and there was not a poverty-stricken wretch in 
Paris who did not feel more secure than those who 
occupied it. From a palace to prison was then a 
short step, and from the prison to the scaffold a 
shorter still. 

First in the list comes the Palace of the Tuileries, 
the residence of the king and court. I do not design 
to describe this in detail ; for it would be indefinite 
in the first place, and hence dry and uninteresting 
in the second place. This magnificent palace fronts 
the Garden of the Tuileries on one side, and the 
Place du Carrousel on the other. In 1416, the spot 
on which it stands was a tile field, where all the 

8 



86 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

tiles with which Paris is supplied were made, and 
had been made for centuries. Those portions of the 
field not occupied with the tile-makers, and their clay 
and kilns, were used as a place of deposit for carrion, 
and rubbish of every sort. Francis I. built the first 
house upon it in •ISIS, and Catherine de Medici, in 
1564, began the present edifice. After she had pro- 
ceeded awhile, she became alarmed at the prediction 
of an astrologer, and stopped. Henry IV. took it 
up again, and finally, under Louis XIII., it was 
completed. It is a noble building, though of no par- 
ticular order, or rather of all orders combined. Each 
story shows the taste of the age in which it was 
erected. The columns of the lower one are Ionic, of 
the second Corinthian, and of the third Composite, 
all and each corresponding to the epoch in which 
they were built. Its front towards the garden is 
very imposing, and over its solid walls may yet be 
traced the fierce handwriting of the Revolution. The 
frenzied mob that thundered against it might not 
have been able to write, but they have left their 
marh^ which no one can mistake. The entire length 
of the front is a thousand feet, while the building is 
a little over one hundred feet deep. Its interior is 
divided into private and public royal apartments — 
saloons, etc., etc. The Louis Philippe gallery is 
lighted on one side only, and by immense windows, 
while on the other side of the room, opposite them, 
and equally large, are arranged looking-glasses in the 
panels, eighteen feet high, and seven feet wide — 
single, solid plates. Here, too, is the silver statue 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 87 

of peace voted to Napoleon, by the city, after the 
peace of Amiens. 

The garden in front of it, with its statues, shaded 
walks, long avenues and fountains, I have described 
before. The other side of the palace fronts the 
Place du Carrousel, beyond which is the Palace of 
the Louvre. This "Place" derives its name from a 
grand tournament which Louis XIV. held there 
nearly two hundred years ago. On the eastern side, 
the infernal machine exploded, destined to kill Napo- 
leon, and in its place now rises the triumphal arch, 
erected by the emperor in the days of his power. 
Eight Corinthian columns of red marble support the 
entablature of this arch, and above them are bas- 
reliefs representing great events in Napoleon's life. 
There is the battle of Austerlitz, the capitulation of 
Uljn, the entrance into Vienna and Munich, and the 
interview of the emperors, forming in all rather a 
curious comment on the infernal machine. 

On the farther side stands the Palace of the Louvre. 
It was begun by Francis I. ; but when Napoleon came 
into power, the roof was not yet on. One of the 
things that arrested my attention most, was the bul- 
let marks on the walls, left there in the last French 
revolution, of 1830. The maddened populace swarm- 
ed up to it, as they had formerly done in the first 
revolution, and hailed bullets on its massive walls. 
The Swiss Guards defended it, and, mindful of the 
fate of their comrades half a century before, and 
determined not to be massacred in detail, as they had 
been, hurled death on the assailants. Those who fell 



88 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

were buried here, and every year, at the anniversary 
of their death, a solemn service is performed on the 
spot where they died. This palace is not so large as 
that of the Tuileries, its front being a little over half 
as long as the latter. It is a fine building, but in- 
teresting chiefly for the museums it contains. Here 
you may wander, day after day, through the halls of 
paintings and statuary, and ever find something new 
and beautiful. A little removed from these two pal- 
aces, on the other side of the Rue Rivoli and Rue 
St. Honor^, blocked in with houses, stands the Palais 
Royal. The orgies this old palace witnessed under 
the Regent, and afterwards under the Duke of Or- 
leans, otherwise called Egalite, are perhaps without a 
parallel, if we except those of the Medici in the 
Ducal palace of Florence. Scenes of debauchery and 
of shame, of revelry and of drunkenness, such ,as 
would disgrace the inmates of a brothel, were en- 
acted here in gilded, tapestried rooms, hung in costly 
curtains, and decorated with all that art could lavish 
upon them. 

But come, stroll around these royal gardens, seven 
hundred feet long and three hundred feet broad, lined 
with lime-trees, and fencing in flower-gardens and 
fountains. It is a July evening, and the cool summer 
air is breathing freshness over the crowds of loungers 
that throng the open area. There are four little 
paviKons in which a man sits to let out papers to 
read at a cent each. Around them your small poli- 
ticians are assembled, reading and talking, all hours 
of the day. Were papers as cheap as in New York, 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. ' 89 

this would not be very profitable business, for each 
would buy instead of hire his paper for a penny, but 
here it is a money-making afiair. Such a throng is 
always found here in the evening, that the mere pri- 
vilege of allowing men to let out chairs and furnish 
refreshment yields the crown more than five thousand 
dollars a-year. This garden is entirely surrounded 
by houses, with the first story an open gallery, in 
which one can promenade at his leisure, looking in 
the gay shops that hne it. Here, too, are restaurants 
and caf^s in any quantity, furnishing your dinners 
at any price. You may step into this elegant one — 
and a little soup, a beef-steak, with a slight dessert, 
mil cost you a dollar. But a few steps farther on is 
a sign which says, a dinner with five courses for two 
francs and a half, or about forty-six cents ; and there 
is another, furnishing an equal number of dishes, with 
wine, for two francs, or thirty-seven and a half cents. 
If you have a mind to try this cheap dinner, step in 
and call for a two-franc dinner. There is no decep- 
tion — the five dishes and wine come on in solemn 
order, but if you eat it, shut your eyes, " and ask no 
questions," not "for conscience," but for stomach's 
sake. Your mutton may have been cut from the ham 
of a dog, and the various dishes so disguised in cook- 
ing, and with sauce, are just as likely to be hash of 
cats as any thing else. If you get the refuse of some 
rich man's table, be thankful and say nothing. The 
wine you need not be a temperance man to refuse, 
though you must be an out and out toper if you can 
muster courage to swallow it. Still it is well to make 

8* 



90 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

the experiment of one such dinner to know what it 
is. You need not eat it — it is worth two francs to 
look at it once. 

The gallery on the south, called the Gallery of 
Orleans, Crallerie d' Orleans^ three hundred feet long 
and forty wide, is the most beautiful of all, and 
almost bewilders you as you walk through it. Many 
a time have I wandered backwards and forwards 
here, thinking the while I must be in a glass gallery. 
The back part of it is composed of elegant shops,, 
with the windows fairly flashing with the gay and 
costly things that adorn them — all fancy articles, 
designed for ornament and show, while between the 
windows is neither wood nor stone, but splendid mir- 
rors filling the place of panels. When the brilliant 
lights are burning, and the gay crowd are strolling 
about it, it is one of the most picturesque scenes 
imaginable. The Palais Royal has been called the 
capitol of Paris, and rightly enough, too, for it is the 
concentrated gayety of the city. 

Going out in the Rue St. Honor^, where it nearly 
joins Rue Rivoli opposite the Place du Carrousel, 
let us go down the side of the Palace of the Tuileries, 
and entering the gardens, stroll towards the Champs 
Elys^es. The Rue St. Honor^ goes direct to the 
Palace of the Elys^es Bourbon, but the route through 
these magnificent grounds is just as near, and far 
more pleasant. Strolling through one of the shaded 
avenues of the garden, we emerge at the farther end 
on to the Place de Concorde, the commencement of 
the Champs Elys^es. Pause here a moment, I always 



RAMBLES ABOUT PAEIS. 91 

do, though it be the hundredth time, and look back 
on the dial of the clock that is placed in the fagade 
of the Tuileries. Here the guillotine stood, drenched 
in blood, and on that very dial did the executioner 
look when the head of the king was to fall. If that 
old dial could speak, it could tell tales that would 
freeze one's blood. You need not shudder as you 
cross this place of terrible remembrances, for care 
has been taken to have nothing left to call them to 
mind. Two beautiful and highly ornamented fount- 
ains are throwing their bright waters around, making 
a murmur-like music ; but though they flow a thou- 
sand years, they cannot wash the blood out of these 
stones. 

Wandering down on the Champs Elys^es, we come, 
on the right hand margin, to the " Palais d'Elys^es 
Bourbon." The building is fine, but it is the associa- 
tions that make it interesting. During the Revo- 
lution, it became the governmental printing-house. 
Afterwards, Murat bought it and lived in it, after he 
married the sister of Napoleon. Many of his im- 
provements remain, and one room is furnished to 
resemble a silken tent. It was done by the wife of 
Murat, with which to welcome her kingly husband as 
he returned from one of his victorious campaigns. 
After he was made King of Naples, it reverted to 
the government, and became the favorite residence 
of Napoleon. Here is the " Salon des Aides-de- 
Camp," where he used to dine with his family on 
Sundays, and there the "Salon de Reception," his 
council chamber, and near by the " Salon des Tra- 



92 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

vails." Here, too, is the bedroom and the very bed 
on which the fugitive emperor slept for the last time, 
as he fled from the fatal battle of Waterloo. The 
room is in blue and gold, and the recess where the 
bed stands is magnificent, but the last night the form 
of the emperor reclined there, sleep was far from its 
silken folds. His throne and crown lay crushed and 
trampled on the hard-fought field, and the sun of his 
power had set for ever. The Emperor of Russia 
lodged in this palace when the allied troops occupied 
Paris the first time, and here Napoleon lived during 
the hundred days after he returned from Elba. He 
left it after his final overthrow, to give place to Wel- 
lington, who sat here and mused over the crisis he 
had passed, and the world-wide renown he had gained. 
Old palace ! I should think it would hardly know its 
own politics by this time. To entertain loyally so 
many different kinds of kings and heroes, and treat 
them all with equal grace, argues a flexibility of 
opinion equal to Talleyrand. 

Opposite the Champs Elys^es, the other side of 
the Seine, is the Palais Bourbon, distinguished now 
chiefly as the seat of the Chamber of Deputies. The 
famous Council of Five Hundred used to sit here, and 
now the five hundred and twenty-nine representatives 
of France meet in Congress within its walls. It is 
hardly worth going over, but its beautiful white front, 
adorned with columns, has a fine effect when viewed 
from this side of the river. 

Opposite the Tuileries, on the farther side of the 
Seine, though out of sight, and a long way from the 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 93 

banks of the river, stands the noble Palace of the 
Luxembourg. I have spoken of this before, when 
describing the debates in the Chamber of Peers, and 
only refer to it now in the list of palaces. In the 
days of the French Republic, the Directory occupied 
it as the place of their sitting, and now the imbecile 
and almost helpless peers legislate in its halls. 

With a trip to Versailles, I will close up [figura- 
tively speaking) the palaces of Paris. This is about 
twelve miles from Paris, with a railroad leading to it 
each side of the river, so that you can go one side of 
the Seine, and return on the other. I took the rail- 
road as far as St. Cloud, or about half-way, and 
stopped to see this other royal though rather petit 
palace. The magnificent grounds interested me 
more than any things else. It was a scorching day, 
and I strolled under the shades of the green trees in 
perfect delight. Just as I was approaching one of 
the cascades, I heard music, sounding like human 
voices singing, though the echo took a singular tone. 
I wandered about hither and thither, but could not, 
for the life of me, tell whence the sound came. At 
length, I came upon a deep recess in a high bank, 
looking like a dry cascade, and lo ! there sat a sister 
of charity, with several girls and young women about 
her, knitting, and sewing, and singing together. They 
made the woods ring again, while the deep cavern-like 
recess they were in, by confining the sound, and send- 
ing it upward instead of outward, produced a singular 
effect on the ear. 

I walked through the grand park a mile, to Sevres, 



94 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

to see the famous porcelain manufactory. I do not 
design to describe this manufactory, but the great 
show-room is magnificent. Such costly and richly 
ornamented vessels and bijouterie I never saw before. 
The best painters are employed, and some of the 
designs are most exquisitely finished. A man could 
spend a fortune here without half gratifying his taste. 
This is the best porcelain manufactory in Europe. 
Here are kept also all the specimens of porcelain in 
the world, as well as of the first variety ever glazed 
in France. No one visiting Paris should fail of see- 
ing them. 

From this place I took the cars to Versailles, and 
in a few minutes went rattling into the miserable, 
forsaken-looking little village that bears that name. 
Soon after, I was looking on the Palace of palaces 
in France. I do not design either to describe this 
immense pile of buildings. Henry IV., the ^^ glorious 
Harry of Navarre," used to gallop over its site in the 
chase. It has passed through many changes, but 
now presents a richness and wealth of exterior sur- 
passed by few palaces in the world. You approach 
it through the ample Place d'Armes, and enter the 
spacious court through groups of statues, looking 
down on you as you pass. The main front is five 
hundred feet long, flanked by wings, each two hun- 
dred and sixty feet in length. I cannot even go over 
the names of the almost endless rooms in this pile of 
buildings. It is estimated that one travels seven 
miles to pass through them all. I can travel that far 
in the woods without fatigue, but to go that distance 



RAMBLES ABOUT PABIS. 95 

through galleries of paintings, and statues, and ele- 
gantly furnished apartments, filled with Tvorks of art, 
is quite another thing. Seven miles of sight-seeing 
on a single stretch was too much for my nerves, so I 
selected those rooms most worthy of attention, and 
avoided the rest. 

The historical gallery interested me most. Here 
are the pictures of all Napoleon's great battles. In- 
deed, it might be called the Napoleon gallery. All 
the pomp and magnificence of a great battle-field 
meet you at every step. But I was most interested 
in a group of paintings, representing Napoleon and 
his most distinguished marshals, both in their youth 
and in the full maturity of years. There stands the 
young Lieutenant Bonaparte — thin, sallow, with his 
long hair carelessly thrown about his grave and 
thoughtful face — and by its side the Emperor, in the 
plenitude of his power and splendor of his royal robes. 
There, too, is the sub-Lieutenant Lannes, the fiery- 
hearted youth, and that same Lieutenant as the Duke 
of Montibello, and Marshal of the Empire. In the 
same group is the under-Lieutenant, Murat, tall and 
handsome, and fiery ; and, by his side, Murat, as King 
of Naples, gorgeously appareled, furnishing strong 
and striking contrasts — histories in themselveSe 
There also were Bernadotte and Soult, in the same 
double aspect, and, last of all, Louis Philippe, as 
Lieutenant and as King of France. The grand 
'' Galerie des Glaces" is one of the finest rooms in 
the world. It is 242 feet long, 35 wide, and 43 feet 
high. Seventeen immense windows light it on one 



96 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

side, while opposite them are seventeen equally large 
mirrors. Sixty columns of red marble, with bases 
and capitals of gilt bronze, fill up the spaces between 
the windows and mirrors, while similar columns adorn 
the entrance. You wander confused through this 
wilderness of apartments, filled with works of art, 
and it is a relief when you emerge on to one of the 
balconies, and look off on the apparently limitless 
gardens and parks that spread away from the palace. 
Immense basins of water, little canals, fountains, jets, 
arches, and a whole forest of statuary, rise on the 
view, baffling all description, and astonishing you with 
the prodigality of wealth they exhibit. There is a 
beautiful orangerie^ garden of orange-trees, sunk deep 
down amid walls, to which you descend by flights of 
a hundred and three steps. Here is one orange-tree 
more than four hundred years old, that still shakes 
its green crown among its children. On one side of 
these extensive grounds are two royal buildings, called 
the great and little Trianon^. In the garden of the 
little [petit) Trianon is a weeping willow, planted by 
the hand of Marie Antoinette. Here, in her days of 
darkness and sorrow, she used to come and sit, and 
weep over her misfortunes. Poor willow, it almost 
seems to speak of its mistress, as it stands drooping 
alone. 

But I have tarried so long around the palaces of 
Paris, that I must dismiss its prisons without a de- 
scription. There are eight prisons in the city, whose 
walls have seen more of suffering, more cries and 
groans — witnessed more unhallowed revelries and 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 97 

scenes of shame, than the like number in any other 
part of the world. During the Revolution, they were 
crowded with inmates who, in the frenzy of despera- 
tion, enacted scenes that day would blush to look 
upon; while the monsters who trod France, like a 
wine-press, beneath their feet, made the foundations 
float with the blood of the slain. There is La Force, 
which forms so conspicuous a figure in one of Eugene 
Sue's works. Here, too, is the Conciergerie into which 
Marie xlntoinette was hurried from her palace and 
lay for two months and a half, and left it only to 
mount the scafl'old. Here, too, pined the Princess 
Elizabeth a weary captive, and, last of all, it received 
the inhuman Robespierre, from whence he was taken 
to the scaffold. This prison has been the scene of 
many a terrible massacre. In the one of 1792, tivo 
hundred and thirty-nine were murdered at once, and 
rivulets of blood poured on every side, from its gloomy 
walls. Here, too, is the never-to-be-forgotten Abbaye, 
with its gloomy underground dungeons, which per- 
formed so tragical a part in the Revolution. I have 
previously described some of the terrific scenes this 
prison has witnessed. One cannot look on it v/ithout 
shuddering, and turns away, wondering if the men 
hurrying past him are of the same species with those 
who have made this prison such a blot on humanity. 

Ah ! this Paris is full of extremes. Its population 
rush into pleasure or into massacres with equal readi- 
ness — turn dandies or tigers in a moment — are carried 
away by romantic sentiments, one day, and by the 
most ferocious feelings that ever filled the bosom of 

9 



98 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

a fiend, the next — gay, dancing popinjays, in the 
morning, and heroes at night — votaries of pleasure, 
and profound mathematicians, mingling the strangest 
qualities, and exhibiting the strangest history, of any 
people on the face of the earth. 

Dining with our Minister to the Court of France, 
the conversation naturally turned upon Louis Philippe 
and his family. He told me that the social life of 
the king was more like the quiet home of a citizen 
than that of a great monarch. His early misfortunes 
and wide wanderino-s had tauc^ht him lessons he never 
would have learned in the dazzling circle of a court ; 
while the bitter experience the Bourbons had passed 
through, and his own experience in a foreign land, 
among a free people, strong because they were free, 
had showed him how to steer clear of the rocks on 
which his predecessors had wrecked. 

No American can have sat beside the hospitable 
table of Mr. Ledyard, in company with his beautiful 
and intelligent wife and family, without carrying 
away with him the most pleasant remembrances. 

A thousand ludicrous mistakes occur in Paris 
among Americans and English, from their ignorance 
of the French language. Things are called for and 
brought, which, according to the understanding of 
the Frenchman, are as different from what is really 
wished as they well could be. A man frequently 
asks for a table-cloth when he thinks he is ordering 
a napkin, or a hat store when he is after a hat-box. 
The French, however, never tire of teaching you 
their language. Where an American or Englishman 



RAMBLES ABOUT PAKIS. 99 

would be mum, if not sullen, a Frericliman will insist 
on making you speak phrases and words till you can 
get so as to talk with him. With the utmost gravity, 
he will stumble on through a cloud of blunders, and 
if he but gets the mere fag end of the idea you are 
after, he will shrug his shoulders with delight, and, 
taking a pinch of snuff, say " ehhien^'' commence 
again. 

One ludicrous instance was related to me here of a 
couple of Englishmen who had just come over from 
the " sea-girt Isle.'' Not having fortified themselves 
with a very extensive knowledge of the French lan- 
guage, it was the most natural thing in the world 
that their dehut into French phrases should be some- 
what laughable. Sitting together at their dinner, 
one of them finally spoke to the waiter in French, 
bidding him remove the dishes. He spoke it very 
plainly, but the "vraiter had never heard such a phrase 
before, and ignorant what to do, politely asked him 
what he had said. The Englishman, suspecting he 
had made a mistake, and too proud to expose his 
ignorance, merely replied, or wished to reply, " never 
mind," thinking that would be the shortest mode of 
getting out of the difficulty ; but he only involved 
himself deeper. Instead of saying n'importe^ he an- 
swered with the greatest nonchalance, jamais esprit^ 
which comes just about as near to " never mind" in 
French, as niinquam animus in Latin. 

One should never fail, 'in Paris, to walk through 
the Champs Elys^es on a holiday. Every Sabbath 
day is a hoKday, and to walk through it on some fete 



100 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

one gets a good idea of the way the French spend 
Sunday. This Champs Elysees, I forgot to mention 
before, is a mile and a quarter long, and averages 
about a third of a mile in width. It is traversed by 
a wide avenue in the centre, flanked with ample side- 
walks and lined with trees. Numberless alleys, cir- 
cles, and squares appear in every direction. Look 
up and down it as the summer sun is sinking in the 
distant sky ; an endless crowd is streaming along, 
and the sound of mirth and music makes the air ring 
again. Imagine the effect of an open space a mile 
and a quarter long and a third of a mile in width, in 
the very centre of New York, waving with trees, and 
filled every pleasant evening with carriages and 
pedestrians without number, and echoing with strains 
of music. Yet what sights it has witnessed ! The 
excited mob has streamed through it, and its alleys 
have rung with theory of "To the Bastile !" and 
" Down with the King !" The guillotine has thrown 
its gloomy shadow over it, and the death cry of 
Robespierre startled its quiet shades. Here the al- 
lied army was reviewed after Paris surrendered and 
Napoleon abdicated; and a splendid sight it was, 
those fifty thousand choice troops marching with 
streaming banners and triumphant music along those 
shaded walks. Here the wild Cossacks pitched their 
tents during the occupation of the city. These wild 
warriors from the wilderness of Russia had followed 
their emperor over the plains of Europe, till, ascend- 
ing the last heights that overlooked the city, their 
barbarian hearts had feasted on the gorgeous specta- 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 101 

cle. They had seen Moscow in flames, and following 
the retreating, bleeding army of Napoleon across the 
Borysthenes, had seen it slowly disappear in the 
snow-drifts of a northern winter ; and now, with theu' 
wild steeds and long lances, they galloped through 
these avenues, and stretched themselves under the 
shade of its trees, as much at home as in their native 
deserts. Here, too, the English army, under Wel- 
lington, the year after, encamped, as it returned from 
the victorious field of Waterloo. 

I could not but think of these things, as I stood 
and looked on the thoughtless multitude that seemed 
occupied with nothing but the present. These great 
contrasts show the fluctuations of Time, and how 
easily the populous city may become the prey of the 
spoiler and turn to ashes. 

The right side as you walk up is devoted more 
especially to promenading, and the left to sports, 
where boys and men are playing at bowls, skittles, 
and ball. But on the right-hand side, also, beyond 
the promenade, are objects of amusement. Here is 
an upright timber, to which are attached long arms, 
sustaining boats, in which, for a few sous, the young 
can sit and go round, rising and falling in long undu- 
lations, as if moving over the billows. Near by is a 
huge horizontal wheel, with wooden horses attached 
to the outer edge, on which boys are mounted, mov- 
ing round in the circle. Returning to the main pro- 
menade, you encounter a minature carriage, elegantly 
furnished, drawn by four beautiful goats, carrying 
along -a gayly dressed boy, who is already proud of 

9* 



102 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

a splendid equipage. At the far termination, on a 
gentle eminence, rises, the magnificent" triumphal 
arch, designed by Napoleon — ^'L'Arc de Triomphe 
de I'Etoile.'' Bending at the end of this mile-long 
avenue, its white arch, ninety feet high, shows beau- 
tifully in the light of the setting sun. Covered with 
bas-rehefs wrought with highest art, the splendid 
structure cost nearly two millions of dollars. There, 
in enduring stone, are sculptured the taking of Alex- 
andria, the passage of the bridge of Areola, the bat- 
tles of Austerlitz and Jemappes, and warriors and war 
scenes without number. 

Turning back down the Champs Elys^es, and 
taking the side deserted by the gay and fashionable, a 
diJBferent scene presents itself. Besides the games in 
full motion on every side, here are collected all the 
jugglers, lazzaroni, musicians, and men with wise 
dogs and wise pigs, and dancing monkeys, and self- 
moving dolls, &c., &c. There is a group standing in 
that oval shape which indicates something of interest 
in the centre. Let us enter it. Lo, there is a man 
with five dogs of various colors, which he has trained 
to act like rational beings. First, he gives them the 
order to march; when placing themselves in line, 
each lifts his fore paw upon the back of the one 
before him, and thus, walking on their hind legs, they 
move gravely around the circle, amid the shouts of the 
spectators. After various exhibitions of this sort, one 
dog is selected to play dominoes with any of the com- 
pany, and, what is stranger still, he beats every body 
that plays against him. 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 103 

A little farther on is a smaller group gathered 
around an old woman, who is haranguing a large doll 
baby she carries on her arm. Some terrible story is 
illustrated in the contortions and gestures she ex- 
hibits, as now she embraces, and now casts from her 
the baby image. Farther still the ground is covered 
"with nimble players, and the air rings with shouts and 
laughter. This is a holiday of a summer evening in 
Paris, and of every pleasant Sabbath evening. What 
would we think of such an exhibition in New York on 
any day, especially on the Sabbath ? In every part 
of Europe this day of rest is turned into a holiday ; 
but nowhere do the people seem to be so utterly for- 
getful that there is any sacredness attached to it as 
in Paris. Here it does not seem the wickedness of 
depraved hearts, of scorners and despisers, but of 
those who never dreamed they were doing any thing 
improper to the day — as if there existed no law but 
that of pleasure. And yet who can blame Europeans 
for preferring the field and the promenade to the 
church? Ignorant of all religion except the Catholic, 
and knowing it to be two-thirds a fable, and three- 
fourths of its priests knaves, what can we expect from 
them but utter indifference and unbelief ? 

The fountains of these grounds, and indeed of all 
Paris, are supplied with water from the Seine. There 
are no aqueducts leading into the city, bringing water 
from elevations, as in Ncav York, so that it makes 
fountains any where and every where a vent is given 
it ; but it is all pumped up from the middle of the 



104 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

river by a tremendous steam engine, which raises 
150,000 cubic feet in twenty-four hours. 

Strolling over the grounds, my friend at length 
stopped in a secluded place, and said, '^ Here, when 
the allied armies first occupied Paris, was a bloody 
fight between several Cossacks. It was outside of 
their camp, and the quarrel had some circumstances 
connected with it which caused many remarks to be 
made about it. Do "you know," he continued, "that 
I have often thought it had something to do with the 
wife of the French officer who was carried off by the 
Cossacks at the battle of Fere-Champenoise ?" 

The following is the story he referred to : When 
the allied armies, in 1814, were in full march for 
Paris, Marshals Marmont and Mortier, with twenty 
thousand men, threw themselves before them to arrest 
their progress. A mere handful compared to the 
mighty host that opposed them, they were compelled 
to retreat towards the capital. As they approached 
Fere-Champenoise, they were assailed by twenty 
thousand cavalry and a hundred and thirty cannon. 
The artillery would rend asunder the solid squares 
by its tremendous storms of grape-shot and balls, 
and then the cavalry dash in at the openings, tramp- 
ling down the steady ranks, and sweeping away whole 
battahons, as if they had been chaff, before them. 
Broken, mangled, and bleeding, the weary army 
finally rallied behind Fere-Champenoise. The next 
day. General Pacthod approached the village with six 
thousand men, fighting as he came, in order to effect 
a junction with the French army. But as he was 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 105 

crossing the fields, he found himself suddenly enve- 
loped in the Russian and Prussian cavalry. The 
Emperor Alexander was there also with his guards, 
and wishing to save an attack, summoned the French 
general to surrender. He refused ; and, although he 
knew that escape was hopeless, addressed his men, 
exhorting them to die bravely. They answered with 
shouts, and immediately forming themselves into 
squares, commenced retreating. Thirteen thousand 
horsemen, shaking their sabres above their heads, 
making the earth tremble as they came, and filling 
the air with dust, burst with loud hurrahs on those 
six thousand infantry. A rolling fire swept round 
those firm squares, strewing the plain with dead, as 
they still showed a bold front to the overpowering 
enemy. Again and again, on a headlong gallop, did 
those terrible masses of cavalry come thundering on 
the little band, and as often were they hurled back 
by the bayonet. At length, the enemy brought 
seventy cannon to bear upon these compact bodies. 
The destruction then became horrible. At the first 
discharge whole ranks went down, and when the 
smoke cleared away, you could see wide lanes through 
those squares, made by the tempest of cannon balls. 
Into these openings the cavalry dashed with head- 
long fury. Every thing now was confusion and chaos. 
It was no longer a wall of men against which cavalry 
were dashing in vain valor, but a broken host through 
which the furious squadrons galloped, making fright- 
ful havoc as they passed. Still the French refused 
to sui-render. Some with the tears streaming down 



106 EAMBLES AXD SKETCHES. 

their faces, and some frantic with anger, kept fixing 
on the enemy till the last cartridge was exhausted, 
and then rushed on them with the bayonet. But 
half of the six thousand had already fallen, and the 
other half was so rent and scattered that they re- 
sembled a crowd of fugitives more than a disciplined 
troop, and the general was compelled to surrender. 
In the midst of this dreadful struggle, Lord London- 
derry saw the young and beautiful wife of a French 
colonel, who was bravely heading his troops, in a 
light carriage, attempting to flee over the field. See- 
ing that their case was hopeless, the officer had sent 
away his wife from the dreadful scene of slaughter. 
But as she was hurrying over the field, three Cos- 
sacks surrounded the carriage and dragged her from 
it. Lord Londonderry, though in the midst of the 
fight, galloped to her rescue, and delivering her to 
his orderly, commanded him to take her to his own 
quarters, and then hastened back to the conflict. 
The orderly placed the lady on the horse behind him, 
and hurried away. He had not gone far, however, 
before he was assailed by a band of fierce Cossacks, 
who pierced him through with a lance, leaving him, 
as they supposed, dead on the field, and bore ofi* the 
lady. She was never heard of more. Her case ex- 
cited a great deal of sympathy, and the Emperor 
Alexander himself took a deep interest in it, and 
made every efi'ort to discover what had become of her ; 
but in vain. Her melancholy fate remains a mystery 
to this day. 

These are the facts to which my friend referred, 



RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS. 107 

when lie said he believed that the quarrel between 
the Cossacks, which occurred only a few days after 
this tragical event, had something to do with it. 
Very possible. It is not improbable that these wild 
warriors brought her to Paris with them, and kept her 
concealed from their officers ; and this fight, the cause 
of which could not be discovered, had something to do 
with her. 

But there is no limit to the imagination in these 
thino-s. She mio-ht have been slain on the field of 
battle, and buried from sight ; and she may have 
lived for years a weary captive, doomed to suffering 
worse than death. 

How often does a single case of suffering affect us 
more than the destruction of thousands; and it is 
only by taking one individual wounded in the field of 
battle, and finally dying in a loathsome hospital, and 
gathering up all the agonies of his single heart, and 
the sighs and tears of his wife and children far away 
— computing the mental and physical suffering to- 
gether, and then multiplying it by tens and hundreds 
of thousands, that we get any idea of the horrors of 
war ! I have often thought of a remark that Bona- 
parte made respecting an incident that occurred in 
the battle-field of Bassano. His generals had fought 
there till nightfall, and conquered, and Bonaparte 
arrived upon it after dark, when all was hushed and 
still. The moon was sailing up the quiet heavens, 
shedding her mellow radiance over the scene, reveal- 
ing here and there unburied corpses, as he rode along, 
when suddenly a dog leaped out from beneath a cloakj 



108 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

and barked furiously at liim. His master lay dead 
on the plain, covered by his cloak, underneath which 
the faithful creature had crept to caress him. As he 
heard footsteps approaching, he darted forth to arrest 
the intruder. He would now rush up to Napoleon 
and bark at him, and then return and lick his mas- 
ter's face and hands as he lay cold and dead. The 
alternate barkings and caresses of that faithful dog, 
the only living thing on that battle-field, clinging still, 
when all other friends had left — the scene itself — the 
moon — the night — the silent corpses, all combined to 
produce an impression he never forgot. Years after, 
at St. Helena, he said it afi*ected him more than any 
incident in his whole military career. 

But here is a farewell to Paris. Without one word 
of complaint against Maurice's excellent hotel, I 
packed my baggage and prepared to depart. Chang- 
ing my French money into notes on the Bank of 
England, I inquired at what time the cars started 
for Rouen, turned to my chamber, and slept my last 
night in Paris. 



OUT OE PARIS — OVER TO ENGLAND. 109 



CHAPTER VII. 

OUT OF PAEIS— OYER THE CHANNEL TO 
ENGLAND. 

The morning was dark and overcast, and a chill 
wind was blowing, as I stowed myself in the railroad 
cars and started for Rouen. I had not made up my 
mind whether I would go on to Havre, or cross from 
Rouen to Dieppe, and so across the Channel to 
Brighton. Past dirty villages, through a monoto- 
nous and interminably fiat country, we thundered 
along, while a drizzling rain, that darkened and 
chilled all the landscape, made the scene still more 
dreary and repulsive. Around me were chattering 
Frenchmen of every grade, keeping up an incessant 
clatter, that was Avorse even than the rattling of the 
cars. At noon, however, the storm began to break 
away, and by the time we reached Rouen, the frag- 
mentary clouds were trooping over as blue a sky as 
ever gladdened the earth. 

Ha\dng arrived at Rouen, I concluded to cross 
over to Dieppe ; and so, having engaged my passage 
in a diligence, and dined, I strolled round the town. 
This old city has not changed, apparently, since 
Joan of Arc blessed it with her presence. Every 
thing is old about it — the houses are old ; the streets 
are old ; the very stones have an old look, and the in- 

10 



110 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

habitants seem to have caught some of the rust. The 
streets are narrow, without sidewalks, and paved, oh 
how roughly ! They slant down from the base of the 
houses to the centre, forming a sort of gutter, so that 
the water can pass off in a single stream. I venture 
to say that horses never dragged a carriage faster 
than a walk along the streets of Eouen. I wandered 
hither and thither till I came upon the cathedral, 
which presents a magnificent appearance, and is quite 
a redeeming feature in the miserable slip-shod town. 
Near by is a stone statute of Joan of Arc. As an 
old memorial of this wonderful woman, it possessed, 
by its associations, a deep interest. Dressed in her 
battle armor, she recalls strange deeds and strange 
times. But the statue, taken by itself, is a mere 
block of stone, and pays no great comphment to the 
Maid of Orleans. 

After being cheated out of my place in the dili- 
gence, which I had engaged — a common custom, by 
the way, on the continent, and one you must make 
your mind up to, if a man of peace — 'I was compelled 
to take an outside seat. I should have preferred it, 
were we not to ride a part of the way in the night. 
I remember, on a similiar occasion, having a regular 
fracas with a diligence officer in Zurich, Switzerland. 
I had before always hired private carriages, so as to 
stop or go when I pleased. But wishing to go direct 
from Zurich to Basle as expeditiously as possible, I 
concluded to take the diligence. I had been inform- 
ed that the route was very much traveled that season 
of the year, and I ought to engage my passage as 



OUT OF PARIS — OVER TO ENGLAND. Ill 

long as I could conveniently before I wished to start. 
So the night before, I went into the office and paid 
my passage, took my ticket, and supposed all was 
right. The next morning my baggage was put 
aboard, and throwing my cloak into the coupe, I was 
strolling about the yard waiting the moment to start, 
when a gentleman accosted me, wishing to know what 
my number was in the coupe. I replied, I did not 
know ; and I did not take the trouble to look, as I 
concluded it was none of his business. He soon, how- 
ever, accosted me again, which made me think some- 
thing was wrong. I took out my ticket, and replied, 
No. 2. " That is my number,'' said he ; " let us go 
into the office and see about it." The secret of all this 
was, this man was a citizen of Zurich, and wished a 
seat in the coupe, which will hold but four, but had 
come too late. The villanous diligence proprietor, 
or his agent, had concluded to give him my place, 
and make me wait till night. I asked the agent how 
this was. He said I had engaged my passage for the 
night. I told him it was false, and he knew it ; for I 
had told him expressly when I was going, and had 
his ticket in my hand. It was of no use, however ; 
he said I could not have my place. I was indignant 
at the cheat, and so told him I would take the body 
of the diligence. (You must know, a diligence is di- 
vided into three compartments ; first the coupe, in 
front, in which you sit and look out on the scenery 
with a good deal of comfort. Behind this is the main 
apartment, which is stuffed like a stage-coach, with 
seats. Behind this is still another smaller apartment, 



112 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

that will hold a few. Over the coupe, on the top of 
the diligence, is the cabriolet, which is simply a ca- 
lash-top, seat and all, set on the diligence. Behind 
this are several open seats, like those on the top of 
some of the Manhattan ville stages, furnishing a sort 
of deck passage, not only in appearance, but price. 
The coupe is the highest in price ; cabriolet next ; 
body of the diligence next ; stern accommodations 
next ; deck passage cheapest of all.) Well, cheated 
out of the coupe, I offered to take the body of the 
diligence, without asking to have any of the money 
refunded. He said the seats were all engaged. I then 
told him I would take the cabriolet. That was full 
also. Anxious to leave that morning, as I had paid 
my bills and packed my trunks, I offered, at last, to 
take a deck passage, and pay the same price that I 
had for the coupe. But the deck seats were all en- 
gaged. My patience was now almost exhausted ; but 
I swallowed my indignation, and quietly asked him to 
refund the money, and I would post it to Basle. No, 
I should neither go nor have my money back, but 
wait till night and take a night passage ! This ex- 
hausted the last drop of good-nature that had been 
gradually oozing out for a long time, and I told him 
he was a scoundrel and a cheat, and I would fetch 
him before the city authorities, and spend a thousand 
francs in Zurich before I would submit to such injus- 
tice ; and I would see if there was any justice for 
such men in Switzerland. This brought him to terms, 
and I took my seat. I mention this for the sake of 
other travelers, and would merely add that a little 



OUT OF PARIS — OVER TO ENGLAND. 113 

boldness and a few threats will sometimes save a vast 
deal of annoyance, expense, and injustice. I man- 
aged the same in Rouen, whose dirty old walls and 
streets I never care to see again. 

Over an uneven and hilly road we wound our way, 
till at last, after dark, tired and hungry, we rolled 
into Dieppe, which is picturesquely situated on a 
small port, with a very narrow entrance. I had be- 
come acquainted on the way with a French merchant 
who lived at Brighton, and we stopped at the same 
hotel. In the morning, when we came to settle our 
bills, I noticed that he paid much less than I did. I 
said nothing at the time, but soon after asked him 
how it happened that I was charged so much more 
than he, when we had had similar accommodations. 
^' 0" said he, with the utmost naivete^ '' you are a 
gentleman and I am a merchant ; gentlemen always 
pay more." I looked at him a moment to see if he 
was quizzing me, but I saw he was quite serious. 
"Well, but," said I, "how did that woman know I 
was a gentleman and you was not ? I am sure you 
are dressed more hke one than myself." "0," he 
replied, " I told her I was a merchant, and trades- 
men are always charged less." This being called a 
gentleman merely because you do not say you are 
not, and being charged for it too, was .entirely new to 
me, traveler as I was ; but before I got through with 
England I understood it perfectly. It is curious 
sometimes to see how one is made aware of his supe- 
rior claims. Now I never should have dreamed, 
from the apartments given me, or the fare I received, 

10* 



114 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

that I was taken for a gentleman ; and as for atten- 
tions, my friend the merchant received more of them 
than I did; and I might have left Dieppe, and its 
miserable, dirty hotel, utterly unconscious of the high 
estimation in which I was held by the slattern mis- 
tress, if I had not been called to pay for that esteem. 
With all due deference to the good woman, I must say 
I do not think I got the worth of my money. 

But soon all was bustle and confusion, as the pas- 
sengers rushed for the steamboat that lay against 
the wharf. The tide was fast ebbing, and we must 
hurry, or the boat would be aground. One would 
have thought, from the uproar, that a seventy-four 
gun ship had swum into port, and the exact moment 
of high tide must be seized to get her out, instead of 
a paltry steamboat, which would not be tolerated on 
any line between New York and Albany. With this 
contracted thing, which would have answered to ply 
on the Hudson between some of the smaller towns, 
we pushed from the port and stood out to sea. The 
wind was blowing strongly off the shore, and we ex- 
pected a passage of six or seven hours across the 
Channel. The shores of France receded, and the 
little cockle-shell went courtesying over the waves as 
self-conceited as if she were a gallant ship. Some 
few fresh-water travelers could not stand even the 
gentle motion she made going before the wind, and 
disappeared, one after another, below. I watched 
the receding shore awhile, and the white sails, here 
and there, that were flocking out to sea, and then sat 
down near some Englishmen and listened for a while 



OUT OF PARIS — OVER TO ENGLAND. 115 

to their conversation. I soon fell into an agreeable 
chit-chat with an intelligent and accomplished Irish 
gentleman, which wore away another hour. Daring 
the forenoon I was struck with the different manner 
an Englishman will assume towards an American and 
an English stranger. There were two proud and 
haughty looking men, from Nottingham, as I after- 
wards learned, who seemed averse to taking part in 
the conversation. The increased motion of the boat 
had continued to send the passengers below, till but 
a few, and those gentlemen, were left on deck. With 
nothing to read, and having got thoroughly tired of 
my own company, I very naturally sought to enlist 
them in conversation. But, John Bull like, they 
maintained a stubborn hauteur that nothing seemed 
able to overthrow. At length, to gratify a mere 
passing whim, I accidentally let it slip out in a re- 
mark that I was an American. You cannot conceive 
the change that passed over them ; their frozen de- 
portment became genial at once, and they seemed as 
anxious to enter into conversation as they were before 
to avoid it. This sudden transformation puzzled me 
at first, but I was soon able to unriddle it. Taking 
me for an Englishman, and not knowing what rank I 
held in Enghsh society, they were afraid of putting 
themselves on too familiar a footing with one below 
them. Perhaps I was a London tallow chandler or 
haberdasher, or even tailor, and it was not best to 
make too free with their dignity ; but, as an Ameri- 
can, I stood on fair and equal ground. "With a repub- 
lican, one does not commit himself, for he addresses 



.116 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

a man who, if in the lowest, is still in the highest 
rank. The King of Sweden will invite a charge 
d'affaires J after he has resigned and become an 
American citizen, to sit beside the queen at his own 
table, which he would not allow him to do as a diplo- 
matic officer of the second rank. One of those Eng- 
lish gentlemen, before he left me in London, gave me 
a pressing invitation to visit him at Nottingham — a 
hospitality as unexpected as it was grateful. 

But alas for this world of sudden changes ! The 
wind which had followed in our wake, and sent us 
swiftly forward, began now to haul around, and 
finally got directly abeam. The waves were making 
fast, and the little boat heeled over, as she puffed 
and blowed along, while the sky became overcast, 
and dark and ominous. The wind kept constantly 
moving about from point to point, till at length it got 
dead ahead, and blew in our very teeth. Acting as 
if it had now achieved some great feat and fairly out- 
witted us, it began to blow most furiously, as if to 
make up for its mildness while creeping stealthily 
around to head us off. If it had begun a little sooner, 
it would have driven us back to Dieppe ; but now we 
were so far across, that by the time the sea was fairly 
awake, and its waves abroad, we hoped to be under a 
bold shore. But before the white cliffs of England 
began to rise over the sea, our little cockle-shell was 
making wild work in the water. The sea had made 
fast, and now kept one-half of her constantly 
drenched. Every wave burst over her forward deck, 
and the poor deck passengers crowded back to the 



OUT OF PAEIS — OVER TO ENGLAND. 117 

farthest limit of their territory, and there, crouching 
before the fierce sea-blast, took the spray of each 
spent wave on their shrinking forms. I never saw a 
boat act so like a fury in my life. She was so small, 
and the sea was so chopped up, that she bounced 
about like a mad creature. Now on one side, and 
now on the other; now rearing up on her stern, 
shaking the spray from her head, and almost snort- 
ing in the efibrt ; and now plunging her forehead into 
the sea and shivering like a creature in the ague ; she 
tumbled, and floundered, and pitched on in such com- 
plicated movements, that it completely tm^ned my, as 
I thought, sea-hardened stomach upside down. I 
had never been very sea-sick in my life, although I 
had crossed the Atlantic, and sailed almost the length 
and breadth of the Mediterranean ; but here I was 
thoroughly so. It was provoking to be so sea-sick on 
such a strip of water as this, and in a small steam- 
boat ; but it could not be helped. The frantic boat 
jerked, and wriggled, and stopped, and started, and 
plunged, and rolled so abruptly and irregularly, that 
it made the strongest head turn ; and, months after, 
I could not recall that drunken gallopade in the 
waters of the British channel without feeling dizzy. 
I walked the deck — then sat down — looked ofi' on the 
distant chalk cliffs that were just visible in the dis- 
tance, and tried to think it was foolish to be affected 
by such a small affair. It all would not do, and I at 
length rolled myself up in my cloak and flung myself 
full length on deck, and fairly groaned. 

But at length Brighton hove in sight, and I stag- 



118 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

gered up to gladden my eyes once more witli the 
fresh earth and the dwellings of men. As I saw the 
carriages rattling along the streets, and men prome- 
nading by the sea-shore, I wondered how one could 
be such a fool as to enter a ship so long as there was 
a foot of dry land to tread upon. To add to the 
pleasure of my just then not most lucid reflections, 
the captain told me it would be impossible to land at 
Brighton, the sea was so high, and we must coast 
along to Shoreham. "Can't you try it, captain?" 
I inquired, most beseechingly. He shook his head. 
The boat was wheeled broadside to land, and began 
to toil her slow way to Shoreham. Narrowly escaping 
beino; driven ao;ainst the sort of half moles that formed 
the port, we at length were safe ashore, and the pale, 
forsaken-looking beings below began to crawd, one 
after another, upon deck, and looked wistfully towards 
the green earth. 

The miserable custom-house esteeming it quite a 
windfall to have so much unexpected work to do, 
caused us a great deal of delay and annoyance. The 
officers felt the consequence "a little brief authority" 
gives a man, and acted not only like simpletons but 
villains, taking Bribes, and shuffling, and falsifying in 
a manner that would have made an American custom- 
house immortal in some Madam Trollope, or Marryat, 
or Dickens' sketch. I never had my patience so 
tried, or my indignation so aroused, by any govern- 
mental meanness on the continent. An Italian 
policeman exhibits more of the gentleman than did 
these English custom-house officers. At length J 



OUT OF PAKIS — OVER TO ENGLAND. 119 

lost all patience, and bluntly told them I considered 
the "whole of them a pack of cheats, and I would be 
much obliged to them if they would give me a gra- 
duated scale of their system of bribes, that I might 
publish it for the sake of my friends who would not 
wish to lose the train for London through ignorance 
of their peculiar mode of doing business. For my 
plainness of speech my trunk was oyerhauled with- 
out mercy; and when the officer was satisfied, he 
commenced tumbling back my things in the most 
confused manner, on purpose to annoy me. I touched 
his arm very politely, and told him I would pack 
my things myself. With a most impudent tone he 
bade one of the assistants put my trunk on the floor. 
He stepped forward to do it, when I told him he could 
not be allowed to touch it, and I was left alone. My 
English friends by this time had become perfectly furi- 
ous, and several others getting wind of the trickery 
that had been practised, there was a general hubbub, 
amid which the custom-house officers became wonder- 
fully bland and accommodating, condescending to a 
world of apologies. 

AVe, however, missed that train for London, and 
sat down to our dinner to wait for the next. 

It was dark before we approached London, and it 
was with strange sensations that I looked out through 
the gloom upon the suburbs of that mighty city. In 
the deep darkness and fog, the lights past which we 
fled seemed to come from houses built on high cause- 
ways, stretching away for miles into the gloom. The 
mouths of red-hot furnaces would come and go with 



120 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

frightful rapidity ; and I could not but think of Dick- 
ens' description of poor Nelly's wandering at night 
through the outskirts of London, by the red forges 
of the workmen. The utter confusion and indistinct- 
ness that comes over one on entering a vast and 
strange city for the first time, and at night, makes it 
seem like a world in chaos. He stands blind and be- 
wildered, like a lost wanderer in the midst of the 
pathless forest. London was the first city in Europe 
I had entered by night, and my inability to catch a 
single outline, or fix a single feature, produced a feel- 
ing of restlessness and uncertainty that was really 
painful. There were long lines of gas-lights before 
me, between which surged along the mighty mul- 
titude, while a confused hum and steady jar filled 
all the air. What a world of human hearts was beat- 
ing around me, and what a world, too, of joy and 
sufiering they contained ! At home, one may not 
notice it ; but in a strange city, to stand alone in the 
midst of a million of people, produces strong and 
sometimes overwhelming sensations. What a tide of 
human life was pouring along those streets ; what 
scenes of suffering and crime that darkness en- 
veloped ! Could I look into every cellar and gloomy 
apartment of that vast city that was shaking and 
roaring around me, what a frightful page I could un- 
fold ^ To Him who sitteth above the darkness, and 
whose eye reacheth not only every dwelling but every 
heart, what a spectacle does such a city as London 
exhibit. 

It was with such thoughts that I rode through the 



OUT OF PARIS — OVER TO ENGLAND. 121 

streets towards my hotel. As I looked round my 
snug apartment, and saw something definite on which 
my eye could rest, I felt as if some mysterious 
calamity had been evaded, and I could breathe free 
again. 

Wearied and excited, I turned to my couch and 
slept my first night in London. 



11 



122 BAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER VIIL 
EAMBLES IN LONDON. * 

KEY. MR. MELVILLE. — MARCHIONESS OF P. — DUKE OP 
WELLINaTON. — THE QUEEN. 

The first day in a large, strange city always 
awakens peculiar feelings, for the mind has not yet 
adapted itself to its new home, new associations, and 
new objects. There is a sense of vagueness, inde- 
finiteness, as if all landmarks and road-marks were 
mingled in inextricable confusion. As you pass along 
and fix, one after another, some striking localities, 
constituting, as it were, points of observation, gra- 
dually the chaos begins to assume form and arrange- 
ment, till at length the endless web of streets lies like 
a map in the mind. 

I have always had one rule in visiting large cities 
on the continent. First, I get a map and study it 
carefully, fixing, at the outset, some principal street 
as a centre around which I am to gather all other 
highways and by-ways. This is a capital plan, for 
all cities have some one great thoroughfare along 
which the main stream of life flows. Thus you have 
the Toledo at Naples, the Corso at Rome, the Bou- 
levards at Paris, Broadway iu New York, &c., &c. 



BAMBLES IN LONDON. 123 

After this is done, I select some day, and purposely 
lose myself, by constant indefinite wandering in the 
city. Guided by no definite object, following merely 
the whim of the moment, I am more apt thus to fall in 
with new and unexpected things, and see every object 
with the eye of an impartial observer. 

But London has three or four thoroughfares of 
almost equal importance. Its millions of souls must 
have more than one outlet, and hence a person is 
easier confused in it than in almost any other large 
city in the world. There is one thing, however, that 
helps a stranger amazingly in knowing his where- 
abouts — the three great streets. Regent street, Oxford 
street, and the Strand, all empty themselves near 
Cheapside, and thus fix a centre to the mind. 

There is one peculiarity in foreign cities, especially 
on the continent, which always strikes a stranger, 
and that is tablets, etc., fixed in the houses, indicat- 
ing some great event, and the time it transpired. 
Thus, in Florence, there are inscriptions fixing the 
rise of a great flood ; and in the pavement near the 
Duomo, one which informs the stranger, that Dante 
used to come and sit there of an evening, and look 
on the splendid cathedral, as the glorious sunbeams 
fell upon it. In another direction, you are informed 
that Corinna inhabited the house before you; and 
by the Arno, that a man there once boldly leaped 
into the water and saved a female. So in walking 
along Aldersgate street, London, I saw a tablet fixed 
in the walls of a house, stating that there a bloody 
murder was committed, and warning all good people 



124 RAMBLES AXB SKETCHES. * 

against the crime. Sauntering along, I came to 
Smitlifield, famous for the martyrdom of Rogers and 
his family ; but I never was so bothered to get up any 
feeling or sympathy about an interesting locality in 
my life ; for there before me, in the open space, were 
countless sheep-pens, composed each of som^ half a 
dozen bars, while the incessant bleating of the poor 
animals within made a perfect chaos of sound. Smith- 
field is noAv a sheep market^ in the heart of London — 
thus changes the world about us — and the old Roman 
Forum is a cow market. 

There is nothing I have regretted so much in tra- 
veling as carelessness in providing myself with letters 
of introduction; the most essential of all things, if 
you wish to know men ; though utterly worthless, if 
you are anxious only to see things. I do not know 
that I should have taken a single one to London, had 
not a friend put it into my head, by offering me a 
couple, one to Thomas Campbell, and another to 
William Beattie. These, however, were quite enough 
for one Avho wished only to see the literary men of 
London, for it is one of the excellent traits of an 
English gentleman that he takes pleasure in intro- 
ducing you to his friends, and thus you are handed 
over from one to another, till the circle is complete. 
But I was unfortunate, for I found neither of these 
gentlemen in London. A day or two after my ar- 
rival, I drove down to the residence of the latter, 
in Park Square, Regent's Park, and was told by the 
servant that Mr. B. was in Dover. Leaving a little 
present for him, with which I had been intrusted by 



RAMBLES IN LONDON. 125 

one of his friends, I returned to my lodgings some- 
what disappointed. A few days after, I received a 
letter from Mr. Beattie, saying that he regretted ex- 
ceedingly that his absence from London prevented 
him from seeing me, and adding the unpleasant infor- 
mation that Campbell had just left him for France. 
This dished all my prospects in that quarter, and I set 
about amusing myself as I best could, now wandering 
through Hyde Park at evening, strolling up the 
Strand, or visiting monuments and works of art. 

On the Sabbath, I concluded to go to Camberwell, 
and hear the celebrated Mr. Melville preach. I had 
read his sermons in America, and been struck with 
their fervid, glowing eloquence, and hence was ex- 
ceedingly anxious to hear him. Camberwell, which, 
though a part of London, is three miles from St. 
Paul's, resembles more some large and beautiful vil- 
lage than the fragment of a city. I had been told 
that it was difficult to get entrace into the church, as 
crowds thronged to hear him ; and as I entered the 
humble, unpretending building, packed clear out into 
the portico, I could not but wonder why he should 
not choose some more extensive field of labor. By 
urging my way to the door, and consenting to stand 
during the whole service, I succeeded in getting both 
a good view and good hearing. As he rose in the 
pulpit, his appearance gave no indication of the 
rousing, thrilling orator I knew him to be, unless it 
was the expression about the eye. There was that 
peculiar lifting to the brow, a sort of openness and 
airiness about the upper part of the face, which be- 



126 RAMBLES AXD SKETCHES. 

longs more or less to all your ardent, enthusiastic 
characters. No man who has a soul with wings to it, 
on which it now and then mounts upward with a stroke 
that carries the eye of the beholder in rapture after 
it, is without some feature which is capable of lighting 
up into intense hrilliancy. 

Mr. Melville looks to be about forty-five. His full 
head of hair, which lies in tufts around his forehead, 
is slightly turned with gray, while his voice, without 
being very powerful, is full and rich. His text em- 
braced those verses which describe the resurrection 
of Lazarus. The topic promised something rich and 
striking, and I was expecting a display of his impas- 
sioned eloquence, but was disappointed. He had 
divided the subject into two sermons, and the first, 
which I was to hear, was a train of reasoning. He 
commenced by taking the infidel side of the question, 
and argued through the first half of his sermon as I 
never heard a skeptic reason. He took the ground 
that the miracle was wholly improbable, from the fact 
that but one of the evangelists had mentioned it. 
Here was one of the most important miracles Christ 
ever performed — one which, if well established, would 
authenticate his claim and mission beyond a doubt, 
and yet but one single evangelist makes mention of 
it. All the other miracles were open to some criticism. 
The son of the widow of Nain might have been in a 
trance, or the functions of life suddenly suspended, 
as IS often witnessed, and the presence and voice of 
Christ been the occasion only, not the cause, of his 
awaking at that particular time. As for healing the 



RAMBLES IN LONDON. 127 

sick, that had been done by others, and there were 
many instances on record where the excited action of 
the mind in a new channel had produced great bodily 
effects. But here was a case in which none of these 
suppositions could be of any weight. Lazarus had 
lain in his grave four days, and decomposition had 
already commenced. All the friends knew it, for 
they had been present at the funeral. They had not 
only closed his eyes, but laid him in his grave, and 
placed a huge stone upon it. Shut out from the light 
and air of heaven, his body had begun to return to 
its mother earth. In this state of things Christ ar- 
rives, and going mournfully to the tomb of his friend, 
calls him from his sleep of death. The dead man 
moves in his grave-clothes, arises, and comes forth ! 
Now, in the first place, was it likely that so wonder- 
ful an occurrence as this should have escaped the 
knowledge of the disciples, or if known, would have 
been omitted in their biographies of him ? Did not 
the unbroken silence of all these writers argue against 
the occurrence of the miracle ? These disciples men- 
tion with great minuteness many acts of the Saviour 
apparently of less importance, and yet this wondrous 
miracle is unaccountably left out. Mr. Melville w^ent 
on in this way, bringing forward argument after ar- 
gument, and applying them with such power and 
force, that I really began to tremble. That his views 
were correct, I had no doubt ; but I feared he was 
not aware of the strong light in which he was putting 
the case, nor of the impression he was making on his 
hearers. I knew he designed to meet and overthrow 



128 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

this tremendous array of argumentj whicli no infidel 
could have used with such consummate ability ; but I 
doubted whether the audience would feel the force of 
his after reasoning, as they evidently had of his for- 
mer. To his mind, the logic might be both clear and 
convincing, but not to the hearer. But I was mis- 
taken. The giants he had reared around his subject 
became men of mist before him. They went down, 
one after another, under his stroke, with such rapidity, 
that the heart became relieved, as if a burden had 
been suddenly removed. He denied, in the first place, 
that there was any thing so peculiar about the miracle 
as the whole argument of the infidel assumed. He 
adduced several other miracles giving more convincing 
proof of Christ's divinity than it — furnishing less 
grounds for cavil ; and then went on to show that this 
very omission proved, if not that miracle, the truth 
of the statements of the evangelists, and their perfect 
freedom from all collusion, and thus in the end proved 
the miracle itself. His argument and illustration 
were both beautiful, and I was very sorry when he 
was through. 

I should like to have heard the other part of the 
subject, vfhen he came to spealc, with the faith and 
love of the believer, of that thrilling scene. I have 
no doubt it gave occasion to one of his finest efforts, 
and around that grave he poured light so intense and 
dazzling, that the hearer became a spectator^ and 
emotion took the place of reason. Mr. Melville is 
the younger son of a nobleman, and exhibits in his 
manner and bearing something of the hauteur so pe- 



RAMBLES IN LONDON. 12& 

culiar to the English aristocracy. He, however, does 
not seem to be an ambitious man, or he would not 
stay in this village-like church in the suburbs of the 
city. His health may have something to do with it ; 
but I imagine the half rural aspect and quiet air of 
Camberwell suit him better than the turmoil, and 
tumult, and feverish existence of a more metropolitan 
life. 

It is quite a long step from this to Hyde Park, and 
the scene that presents itself is quite different from 
that of a house of worship. It is a week day, and 
through this immense park are driving in all direc- 
tions the gay and luxurious nobility of England. 
About five o'clock in the evening the throng is the 
thickest, and along every winding road that intersects 
these magnificent grounds are passing splendid car- 
riages, or elegant delicate structures of the wealthy 
and noble, making the whole scene a moving pano- 
rama. Here English ladies show their skill with the 
whip, and drive their high-spirited horses with the 
rapidity and safety of a New York omnibus driver. 
Look, there goes a beautiful, light, graceful thing, 
dravrn by two cream-colored ponies, or rather very 
small horses, with silver manes and tails. Of fault- 
less form, they tread daintily along, while behind, on 
two other ponies of the same size and color precisely, 
are mounted two outriders, who dog that light vehicle 
as if it were death to lose sight of it. The only 
occupant of that carriage is a lady, fat and hand- 
some, with auburn hair, b}ue eyes, and a full, open 
face, who, with the reins in one hand, and the whip 



180 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

in the other, is thus taking her airing. As she passes 
me, a long stretch of road is before her, and with a 
slight touch the graceful team spring away, while the 
fair driver, leanly gently forward, with a tight rein 
guides them in their rapid course. Those two out- 
riders have hard work to keep up with the carriage 
of their mistress as it flies onward. That lady is the 
Marchioness of P., a noted beauty. 

I give this simply as a specimen of the manner in 
which the ladies of the English nobility amuse them- 
selves. It is no small accomplishment to be a good 
whip, and the lady who can manage a spirited team 
is prouder of her achievement than if she performed 
a thousand domestic duties. What a singular thing 
custom is ! I have seen women in our frontier settle- 
ments going to the mill, and driving both horses and 
oxen with admirable skill, nay, pitching, and loading 
grain. The Dutch girls in Pennsylvania will rake 
and bind equal to any man, and many of our western 
females perform masculine duties with the greatest 
success ; but we have not generally regarded these 
things as accomplishments. It makes a great difler- 
ence, however, whether it is done from necessity or 
from choice. It is singular to see how our refinement 
and luxury always tend to the rougher state of so- 
ciety, and not unfrequently to that bordering, in 
many respects, on savage life. Gladiatorial shows, 
bull-fights, &c., spring out from the weariness and 
ennui of a refined, lazy, voluptuous life. The want 
of excitement produces these spectacles ; for when 
men become insensible to the more refined pleasures, 



RAMBLES IN LONDON. 131 

from their long gratification, they seek the stimula- 
tion of grosser ones. Exhausted luxury must ter- 
minate in brutal debasement or brutal ferocity, and 
just in proportion as the senses are gratified does 
man seek for the stronger stimulants, which are found 
in that state of society bordering nearest on animal 
life* This luxury produces the opposite of true re- 
finement, say what those will who rule in the high 
places of fashion. 

But I will speak of Hyde Park again, and will just 
step across to St. James's Park, which is laid out with 
an eye as much to taste as to convenience. A little 
lake slumbers in the centre, on which ducks are 
quietly saihng, and green and beautiful trees are 
shaking their freshness down on the dreamy groups 
that are strolling about, while palaces on every side 
shut in with their gorgeous fronts the large and de- 
lightful area. I was sauntering along, musing as I 
went, when a single horseman came on a plunging 
trot towards me. It needed no second look to tell 
me it was the "iron duke." That face, seen in every 
print-shop in London, with its hooked nose, thin, 
spare features, and pecuhar expression, is never mis- 
taken by the most indifferent observer. He had on a 
gray tweed overcoat, which cost him probably five or 
six dollars, and his appearance, manner and all, was 
that of a common gentleman. He is an ungraceful 
rider, notwithstanding so much of his life has been 
passed on horseback, and in the field; but I must 
confess that the kind of exercise he has been sub- 
jected to in that department was not the most favor- 



132 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

able to elegance of attitude in the saddle. His long 
and wearisome campaigns and fierce battles bave de- 
manded endurance and toil, and though his seat is not 
that of a riding-master, he has nevertheless ridden to 
some purpose in his life. As I turned and watched 
his receding form, I could not but think of the stormy 
scenes he had passed through, and the wild tumult 
amid which he had urged his steed. There are 
Albuera, Badajos, Salamanca, St. Sebastian, and last 
of all, Waterloo, about as savage scenes as one would 
care to recall. Where death reaped down the brave 
fastest, and the most horrid carnage covered the field ; 
amid the smoke and thunder of a thousand cannon, 
and the fearful shocks of cavalry, he has ridden as 
calmly as I see him now moving away into yonder 
avenue of trees. 

The Duke has a house near by, in a most dilapi- 
dated state, which he, with his accustomed obstinacy, 
steadily refuses to repair. The mob in their fury thus 
defaced it, and he is determined it shall stand as a 
monument of lawless violence. His great influence 
in the administration of the government, has made 
him the object of marked hatred to that whole class 
of men who are starving for want of work, and yet 
have sense enough to know who are their oppressors. 
Once he came near being trodden under foot by them. 
They pressed fiercely upon his steps as he rode along 
the street, and were just about to drag him from his 
horse, when a cartman drove his cart right behind 
him, and kept it steadily there, notwithstanding every 
effort to push the bold fellow aside. His devotion 



RAMBLES IN LONBOZsT. 133 

saved the Duke, and the latter was so grateful for 
it, that he made every effort afterwards to discover 
his name, for the purpose of rewarding him, but never 
did. 

Soon after, I came to Buckingham Palace, the 
royal residence, and seeing a crowd at the main en- 
trance, I asked a sentinel on guard what it meant. 
He replied that the Queen was every moment ex- 
pected. This was a sight worth stopping to see, so I 
fell into the ranks that were arranged on each side 
of the gate. I had not waited long before several 
outriders came up on a full gallop, and the ponderous 
gate swung back on its hinges as if touched by an 
enchanter's wand, while those horseman reined up on 
either side, and stood as if suddenly turned into 
statues. Soon an open carriage, drawn by six horses, 
came up with a rapid sweep, followed by several men 
in gold lace on horseback. There was quite a move- 
ment at the sight of this cortege, yet there was noth- 
ing particularly imposing in it. The top of the car- 
riage had been thrown back, giving it the appearance 
of a barouche, and within sat two ladies and two gen- 
tlemen, looking for all the world like any other well- 
dressed people ; yet one of those ladies was the Queen 
of England, and one of those gentlemen was Prince 
Albert. The Queen had on a straw hat and a light 
shawl, and with her very plain face, full and unplea- 
sant eye, retreating chin, and somewhat cross expres- 
sion in her look, seemed any thing but an interesting 
woman. The portraits of her have as little of her 
features in them as they well could ; for Victoria, as 

12 



134 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

Queen of England, is a very plain woman, wWle Vic- 
toria, a milliner, would be called somewhat ugly. 

The royal cortege swept into the court, the gates 
swung back on their hinges, and the blessed vision 
had departed. The Queen, however, had deigned to 
bow to me — that is, to us, some fifty or a hundred — 
and I turned away to my hotel wondering when the 
farce of queens would end. Here is one of the most 
powerful empires in the world, sustained by the most 
powerful intellects it possesses, with a mere stick, a 
puppet moved by wires, placed over it. A young 
woman who probably could not manage an ordinary 
school well, is presented with the reins of govern- 
ment, because the registry says that her great-grand- 
father's uncle, or some similar relative, once wore a 
crown legitimately. So hoary-headed statesmen, the 
proud, the great, and the wealthy, come and bow the 
knee, and hail her sovereign who they know really 
exercises no more sway than a wooden image placed 
in her stead, with a little royal blood dropped into its 
mouth by way of consecrating it. This putting up the 
mere symbol of royalty, and then bowing with such 
solemn mockery before it, will yet appear as ludicrous 
as the worship of the Grand Lama, when an infant six 
months old, by the people of Thibet. 



RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 135 



CHAPTER IX. 
RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 

THE THAMES. — HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. — SIR ROBERT 
PEEL, LORD LYNDHURST, AND LORD BROUGHAM. — 
WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

I FREQUENTLY strolled through the streets of Lon- 
don to the Thames ; for I loved to stand on one of 
the many noble bridges that span it, and gaze on the 
graceful arches of the others, and watch the throng 
of little steamboats that flew about on every side in 
the most funny manner imaginable, as if worried to 
death in the effort to keep the multitudinous craft 
around and the busy wharves in order. They shot 
and darted hither and thither — now bowing their 
long pipes to pass under an arch, and now emerging 
into view, flying along the stream as if possessed 
with the power of will. And then their names were 
so pretty— "Daylight," "Starlight," "Moonlight," 
" Sunbeam," etc., etc., just fitted for such wee bits of 
things. This world-renowned Thames is a small 
affair, and bears about the same proportion to our 
noble Hudson as our Croton aqueduct does to it. No 
wonder that an Englishman, born and bred in London, 
and taught to consider the Thames as a very fine 



136 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

river, sliould regard the accounts of our majestic 
streams with incredulity. An American standing 
beside the Thames one day with an Englishman, took 
occasion to speak of the Missouri, a mere tributary 
of the Mississippi, and in order to convey some defi- 
nite idea of its size, told how many of the Thames it 
would hold. When he had finished, the Englishman 
simply gave a long whistle and turned on his heel, as 
much as to say, " You don't suppose I'm such a fool 
as to believe that !" This, by the way, is a fair illus- 
tration of the manner we this side of the water get 
wrong impressions of foreign nations from English- 
men. It must be remembered that an Englishman 
never looks on any country in the abstract, or by 
itself, but always in comparison with his own. Eng- 
land is the standard by which to judge of the size, 
and state, and degree of civilization of all other 
countries on the globe. Thus we have heard a thou- 
sand changes rung on the clear sky of Italy, till every 
traveler looks up, the moment he touches the Italian 
coast, to see the aspect of the heavens. He finds 
them blue and beautiful enough, and immediately 
goes into ecstasies ; when the fact is, the sky that 
has bent over him from his infancy is as clear and 
bright an arch as spans any land the sun shines upon. 
There is a softness in the Italian sky not found in 
the United States, but no clearness equal to ours. 
The English, accustomed to everlasting mists, are 
struck with astonishment at the pure air of Italy, 
and utter endless exclamations upon it. This is 
natural, for a Londoner considers a perfectly bright 



EAMBLES ABOUT LONDO]^. 137 

and clear day at home as a sort of phenomenon, not 
expected to occur except at long intervals. The at- 
mosphere of London is a perpetual fog ; the pleasant 
days are when this fog is thin and light, and the 
cloudy days when it soaks you to the skin. As you 
get up morning after morning and see this moveless 
mist about you, you wish for one of those brisk north- 
westers that come sweeping down the Hudson, chasing 
all vapors fiercely out to sea. 

But let me take a peep at the two houses of Parlia- 
ment. Our minister, Mr. Everett, has sent me his 
card with his ambassadorial seal upon it, which gives 
me the entree to the House of Lords ; while Mr. 
Macaulay has kindly given me access to the House 
of Commons. I visited the latter more frequently 
than the former, for there is always more life in the 
representation of the people than in that of a mere 
shadow, nobility, A very fine building for the sessions 
of Parliament is going up, but the rooms in which the 
two houses now meet are very ordinary afi*airs. The 
chamber of the House of Commons looks more like 
one of our mongrel churches — met with in some 
country places — half church, half school-house, than 
any thing I can think of. Some of the members are 
compelled to sit in the gallery, while the seats are of 
the most common kind. One is struck on approach- 
ing the House of Commons in seeing so many saddle- 
horses held by servants, as if a squadron of troopers 
had just dismounted ; but on entering, the mystery is 
dispelled ; for there sit the owners, some with hats on, 
others with their feet on the backs of benches before 

12^' 



138 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

them, Tv^Itli their riding-whips in their hands. The 
younger members of Parliament regard the sittings 
of the House a bore, and come in only now and then 
and stay a short time, for the sake of propriety ; then 
mount their horses and away. I heard Robert Peel 
speak here one evening, in reply to young O'Connell, 
nephew of Daniel O'Connell. O'Connell, a short, 
thick-set man, was full of fire and ardor, like his 
race, and dealt his blows on the right hand and on 
the left with downright good-will, if not always with 
the greatest skill. Peel's whole manner and reply 
were characteristic of the well-bred Englishman. He 
was carefully dressed, and his entire speech was 
marked by that urbanity and good sense which 
usually distinguish him. He had on light-colored 
pantaloons, a light vest, and brown coat ; and, with 
his full fresh face, looked the perfect picture of 
health and good living. Probably there is not a 
man in England that does more thinking and down- 
right hard work than he, and yet his appearance 
indicates one who lives a life of ease and comfort, 
sets a fine table, and enjoys a good glass of wine. 
How, amid the harassing cares of his station, and 
the incessant toil to which he is subject, he manages 
to retain that florid complexion, full habit, and bland 
expression, I cannot divine. I believe it is a mere 
physical habit, that is, the expression of his face; 
but still that does not explain how he is able to keep 
in such good bodily condition. There is much com- 
plaint of the rude manners of our representatives in 
Congress ; and they are an unruly, rough set of men 



RAMBLES ABOUT LONDOX. 139 

as one would wish to see in any legislative liall ; but 
the members of England's House of Commons are 
quite as uncouth and ill-bred in their behavior. 

The House of Lords, like the Senate, has more 
dignity, but the room in which it sits is inferior even 
to that of the Lower House. It would make a re- 
spectable session room for some church, and nothing 
more. Lord Lyndhurst was on the woolsack when I 
went in, and, with his immense powdered wig and 
gown, looked comical enough to my republican eyes. 
I could hardly divest myself of the impression that I 
was looking on some old picture, till he opened his 
mouth to speak. This same Lord Lyndhurst, Lord 
High Chancellor of England, was once a poor boy in 
the streets of Boston. His father was a painter in 
the city, but managed to give his son a good educa- 
tion ; and industry and genius did the rest. A law- 
yer in England, he went up, step after step, till he 
finally found himself on the '' tvoolsadc^'' which, by 
the way, is simply a huge red cushion somewhere 
near the centre of the House of Lords. I had also 
a fair look at Lord Brougham, whose face indicates 
any thing but greatness. But with all his genius, he 
bids fair to make a wreck of himself. His misfor- 
tunes or own evil nature have made him a dissipated 
man ; and there are stories told of him in London 
which would disgrace a member of the Empire Club 
of New York. 

It is stupid, sitting in the House of Lords when no 
exciting topic is on the tapis, for it is sim.piy a dull 
routine of business. 



140 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

Westminster Abbey is close by, and let us step up 
into it a moment, and walk amid the tombs of the 
mighty dead. This old structure has stood the wear 
and tear of centuries, witnessed the rise and fall of 
kingdoms, and seen changes that have altered the 
face of the world. Yet still it stands in its ancient 
strength, the sepulchre of England's kings, and poets, 
and historians, and warriors. Its exterior would ar- 
rest the eye as a fine specimen of architecture. It is 
built in the form of a cross, four hundred and sixteen 
feet in length, and nearly two hundred feet in breath. 
Two noble towers rise from the west end, and are two 
hundred and twenty feet high. But the interest is 
all within. The choir occupies the centre of the 
building, and hence destroys the effect of the nave, 
,and indeed lessen to the eye the magnitude of the 
building. All around the sides are small chapels, in 
which lie kings and queens in great abundance, each 
surmounted by monuments characteristic of the age 
in which he or she lived. Here lies an old Saxon 
king, and near by sleeps Henry V. The chapel of 
Henry VII. is the greatest curiosity in the Abbey, 
being built itself in the form of a cathedral, with nave 
and side aisles, and is adorned with Gothic towers, 
while the ceiling is wrought into a variety of designs, 
and all from the solid stone. Two heavy brass gates 
open into it, and one feels, as he stands amid its 
strange architecture, as if he were in the presence of. 
the ancient centuries. 

But let us stroll around this old Abbey, whose at- 
mosphere is so different from that of the busy world 



RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 141 

without. It is all tombs, tombs, tombs — standing 
silent and mournful in the '^ dim religious light;" and 
one treads at every step on the ashes of greatness 
and pride. Here is a monument to Shakspeare, and 
there lies Milton, the poet of heaven, whose lyre rang 
with strains that had never before fallen on mortal 
ears. Underneath him sleeps Gray, and on the tablet 
above him stands the Muse, pointing to the bust of 
Milton, with this inscription : — 

" No more the Grecian muse unrivaled reigns. 
To Britian let the nations homage pay ; 
She felt a Homer's power in Milton's strains, 
A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of Gray." 

Near by is Dryden's monument, and a little farther 
away that of Chaucer and Spenser. Here, too, are 
Thomson — sweet poet of the Seasons — and Addison, 
and Butler, the author of ^'Hudibras." But what a 
contrast do the monuments of John Gay and Handel 
exhibit ! On the former, is the epitaph written by 
himself, for himself : — 

"Life is a jest, and all things show it; 
I thought so once, and row I know it." 

Before the figure of the other is placed the '^ Mes- 
siah," opened at the passage '^ I know that my Re- 
deemer liveth." Can any thing illustrate more forcibly 
the difference between the views of the wicked man 
and those of the Christian — one saying, even in his 
grave, "Life is a jest, and now I know it;" and the 
other uttering in exulting accents, "I know that my 



142 EAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

Redeemer liveth?" "With what different hope and 
feelings, must two men of whom one can utter these 
sentiments in sincerity, go out of the world ! Which 
is most likely to have his knowledge prove false ? 

A little further on is a monument to Andr^, the 
spy, and Garrick, the actor. Here, too, are sleeping, 
side by side, Pitt and Fox, rivals no more ; and here 
also are Grattan, and Canning, and Sheridan, and 
more than all, Isaac Newton. But step once more 
into this side chapel. There are sleeping, almost 
wdthin reach of each other, Mary and Elizabeth. The 
beautiful but erring queen of the Scots, rests in her 
mxouldering tomb as quietly as her proud and success- 
ful rival. The haughty Elizabeth sent her to the 
scaffold, and held her proud sceptre in security, and 
vainly thought that her reputation was secure. Years 
rolled by, and she, too, was compelled to lie down 
in death. A nation mourned her departure — princes 
and nobles followed her to the tomb, and there were 
all the pageantry and pomp of a kingly funeral when 
she was borne to her resting-place. Centuries have 
passed aw^ay, and history has drawn the curtain from 
before her throne ; and now pilgrims come from every 
land to visit her tomb and that of her rival. Ah, 
could she listen to the words spoken over her grave, 
hear the sighs breathed over the beautiful Mary, and 
the scorn and contempt poured on her own queenly 
head, she w^ould learn that the act by which she 
thought to have humbled her rival, has covered her 
own head with infamy. The tw^o queens sleep side 
hy side ; but who thinks of Elizabeth over the tomb 



RAMBLES ABOUT LO^N^DOX. 143 

of Mary but to scorn her ? Had she let her rival live, 
her errors would have ruined her fame ; but now the 
mournful and cruel fate to which she fell a victim 
covers her faults, and fills the heart with sympathy 
rather than condemnation. 

Oh ! what a contrast the interior of this old Abbey 
presents to the world without ! London, great, busy, 
tumultuous London, is shaking to the tread of her 
million of people, while here all is sad, mournful, and 
silent. The waves of human life surge up against 
the walls, but cannot enter; the dead reign here. 
From the throne, the halls of state, and the heights 
of fame, men have come hither in their coffins, and 
disappeared from the world they helped to change. As 
one stands beneath these old arches, it seems as if a 
monarch whose word was fate, had sat enthroned here 
century after century, and slowly beckoned to the 
great to descend from their eminences, and lay their 
proud foreheads in the dust at his feet. Overlooking 
all the common herd, he would have none but the 
lordly as his victims. He beckons the king, and he 
lays aside his sceptre and royal apparel, and with a 
mournful countenance obeys, and descends into the 
tomb. He waves his imperial hand to the statesman 
whose single intellect rules- the nation, and he ceases 
his toil, and lies down beside his monarch. He nods 
to the orator, and his eloquence dies away in indis- 
tinct murmurs, and with a palsied tongue, he too, 
yields to the irresistible decree. The poet is stopped 
in the midst of his song, and with lyre snapped in 
his hand, hastens to this great charnel-house. Thus, 



144 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

century after century, has this invisible being stood 
under the gloomy arches of Westminster Abbey, and 
called the great and the kingly to him ; and lo ! what 
a rich harvest lies at his feet ! and still he is calhng, 
and still they come, one after another, and the mar- 
ble falls over them. What a congregation of dead 
are here ! Some of the noblest hearts that ever beat 
are mouldering under my feet, and I tread over more 
greatness than ever did the haughtiest tread upon 
when alive. 

After wandering for an hour in this sombre place, 
I emerged into the daylight once more, with strange 
feelings. For a moment, I could not shake oflf the 
belief I had been dreaming. I had lived so com- 
pletely with the past, that the present had been for- 
gotten ; and now, as it came back again, it seemed 
that one or the other must be a dream. Carriages 
were rattling around, and the hasty multitude went 
pouring on, and the jar and hum of London went up 
like the confused noise from some great battle-field. 
The tide of human life rolled fiercely on, shaking the 
gray Abbey on its ancient foundations ; but none of 
it reached the ears of the mighty sleepers within. 
Their work was long since done. I do not remember 
ever to have had such feelings but once in my life 
before, and that was in emerging from the tombs of 
the Scipios, near Rome. The sun was just sinking 
in the west as I entered the gloomy portals by torch- 
light, and roamed through the damp and sombre 
apartments. As I saw the names of those ancient 
Romans above the place where they had reposed, time 



RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 145 

seemed suddenly to have been annihilated, and I felt 
as if standing in the burial-ground of those who had 
but just died. The familiarity of the scene made it 
appear real, and when I again stood at the mouth of 
the tomb and looked off on the landscape, it was 
some time before I could fairly recall my scattered 
senses. The fields appeared strange, and the glorious 
light that glowed where the sun had gone down, 
looked mysterious and new. 

With my heart full of mournful reflections on the 
fleeting nature of all human greatness, and with a 
deeper awe of the tomb that crowds such great souls 
into its portals, I strolled homeward, scarce mindful 
of the throng through which I passed, and noticing it 
only to sigh over its evanescence, still sweeping on to 
the dark inane, wave after wave striking on the un- 
seen shore of the future, but sending back no echo. 
Flowing ever onward, and no returning wave, 



•We are such stuff 



As dreams are made of, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep.'* 



13 



146 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES, 



CHAPTER X. 
RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 

STARVING CHILDREN. — LONDON BRIDGES. — MADAME 
TUSSAUD'S exhibition. — BONAPARTE'S CARRIAGE. 
WINDSOR CASTLE. — THE QUEEN'S STABLES. . 

I WAS constantly meeting in London evidences of 
the miserable condition of the poor. Though there 
is a law forbidding street begging, it cannot prevent 
the poor wretches from asking for bread. I was 
struck with the character of many of the beggars that 
accosted me, so unlike those I had been accustomed 
to meet. I had just come from Italy, where the 
whining tone, pitiful look, and drawling "me misera- 
bile!'' "fame!" "per carita!" and the ostentatious 
display of deformed limbs, had rendered me somewhat 
hardened to all such appeals. But here it was quite 
different. Men of stout frames, upright bearing, and 
manly voices, would tell me in a few plain words that 
they were out of work, and that their families were 
starving ! 

One pleasant afternoon, as I was strolling up Lud- 
gate Hill, filled with the multitude, I saw a sight I 
shall never forget ; it even arrested the Londoners, 
accustomed as they are to all kinds of misery, and a 



RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 147 

group \ras collected on the walk. Two cliildren, a 
boy and a girl, the latter I should judge about eight, 
and the former, five or six years of age, sat on the 
flagging, pressed close against the wall, wholly un- 
conscious of the passing multitude. In their dress, 
appearance, and all, they seemed to have been just 
taken from some damp, dark cellar, where they had 
been for months deprived of light and almost of sus- 
tenance. Their clothes were in rags, black, damp, 
and ready to drop from their crouching bodies ; their 
cheeks were perfectly colorless, as if bleached for a 
long time in the dews of a dungeon, and the little boy 
was evidently dying. How they came there, no one 
could tell ; but there sat the sister, struggling feebly 
to sustain her sinking brother. The poor little fel- 
low sat with his head waving to and fro, and his eyes 
closed, while his sister, to whom some one had given 
a morsel of bread, was crowding the food into his 
mouth, conscious that famine was the cause of his 
illnes.«. The spectators, moved by the touching spec- 
tacle, rained money into her lap; but she did not 
even deign to pick it up or thank them, but, with 
her pale face bent in the deepest anxiety on her bro- 
ther, kept forcing the bread into his mouth. The 
tears came unbidden to my eyes, and I also threw my 
mite of charity into her lap and hastened away. 
Oh ! how strange it is that men will roll in wealth, 
and every day throw away what would make hun- 
dreds happy, and yet feel no reproaches of conscience 
for their acts ! We hear much nowadays of the hor- 
rors of war ; but there is no battle-field which exhi- 



148 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

bits such woe, and suffering, and mortality, as the 
streets, and lanes, and cellars of London. Even our 
preachers are on the wrong track in their efforts to 
ameliorate the condition of our race. It is not war, 
nor ambition, nor intemperance, nor any of the great 
vices so openly condemned, that lies at the bottom 
of human misery. It is covetousness — the thirst for 
gold, which fills the church too much, as it does the 
world — ay, so much that it cannot be touched by the 
hand of discipline — that makes our earth a place of 
tears. These very vices, against which such ana- 
themas are hurled, grow out of this very covetous- 
ness, that is treated as an imperfection rather than a 
crime. The place that Christ gave it no one dare 
now give it, and man is left to mourn in poverty and 
want, and all the hateful passions of the wretched 
left to rise up in rebellion and scorn against the 
heartless religion that condemns their vices and 
urges them to repentance, while it leaves them and 
their children to starve. " The Ohurch/' par excel- 
lence, of England, may treble her prelates and her 
incomes, build countless cathedrals, and pray for the 
salvation of the world till doomsday ; but, so long as 
she robs the poor, and neglects the physical condition 
of the suffering, she will pray to a deaf God. " To 
visit the widow and the fatherless in their distress" 
is one of the chief duties of religion, and yet the 
Church of England never does it ; on the contrary, 
she sends the tithe collector in her place. But I 
have not yet given a general description of London. 
Well, this city of more than a million of inhabitants, 



RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 149 

occupies about one thousand four hundred square 
acres packed with houses. It is about eight miles 
long and between four and five broad ; so that, you 
see, Harlem Island will have to be packed pretty 
close before New York equals London in its popula- 
tion. It is divided into West End, occupied by the 
noble and wealthy ; the City Proper, embracing the 
central portion, which constituted old London; the 
East End, devoted to commerce and trade, and busi- 
ness of every kind, and hence filled with dust and 
filth; Southwark, made up, in a great measure, of 
manufactories and the houses of the operatives ; and 
Westminster, containing the royal palace, parks, two 
Houses of Parliament, and the old Abbey. There 
are two hundred thousand houses in this mammoth 
city, eighty squares, and ten thousand streets, lanes, 
rows, &c. 

The bridges, to which I referred in my former ar- 
ticle, constitute one of the chief beauties of London, 
There are six of them, and magnificent structures 
they are. A suspension bridge is also in contem- 
plation ; and then there is Thames Tunnel, tie won- 
der of the world, of which I will say something more 
by and by. Of these six bridges. New London is by 
far the finest. Vauxhall, about seven hundred feet 
long, is made of cast iron, and composed of nine 
arches of seventy-eight feet span. Westminster is 
of stone, over a thousand feet long, and cost nearly 
two million dollars. Blackfriars is a thousand feet in 
length, and has nine arches. This is also of stone. 
Southwark is of cast iron, and, though nearly seven 

13* 



150 EAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

hundred feet in length, is composed of but' three 
arches, the middle one being two hundred and forty 
feet span, the largest in the world. The effect of 
this central arch is beautiful, especially when a whole 
fleet of boats is beneath it, and a whole crowd 
of people streaming across it. The New London, 
which has taken the place of the Old London Bridge, 
is indeed a noble structure. It is built of Scotch 
granite, and goes stepping across the Thames in five 
beautiful arches, completing this wonderful group of 
bridges, the like of which no city in the world can 
furnish. It cost seven and a half millions of dollars, 
while the six together were built at the enormous ex- 
pense of over fourteen and a half millions. Across 
them is a constant stream of people, and a hundred 
and fifty thousand are supposed to pass New London 
alone daily. One is amazed, the moment he begins 
to compute the enormous wealth laid out on public 
works in this great city. The finest buildings it con- 
tains are St. Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, 
and Buckingham Palace. There are other magnifi- 
cent buildings, but these are the most prominent. 
St. Paul's is a noble structure, and, as you stand un- 
der the magnificent dome, it seems higher than that 
of St. Peter's, in Rome. The grand scale on which 
every thing in the latter is built, deceives the eye 
when attempting to measure any one object in parti- 
cular. But the dome of St. Paul's is so much larger 
in proportion to other parts of the building, that you 
look at it almost as if it stood by itself. Around the 



RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 151 

•walls are monuments to the dead warriors, statesmen, 
&c., some of them being fine specimens of sculpture. 

One of the most peculiar things that strikes the eye 
of the beholder when looking on Buckingham Palace, 
is a huge bronze lion standing on the top, with head 
and tail erect. The rampant attitude, as it is pre- 
sented in such strong relief against the sky, has a 
singular efiect. It is quite characteristic, however, of 
the nation it represents, for rampant enough it has 
been, as the history of the world will testify. France, 
Spain, the East, America, and the islands of the sea, 
can all bear testimony to the appropriateness of the 
symbol. This Anglo-Saxon race is strangely aggres- 
sive ; no people, except the ancient Romans, ever 
equaled them. Without being cruel, their thirst for 
conquest and desire of territory are insatiable. This 
evil trait has not disappeared in the children, but 
exhibits itself just as strongly on our side of the 
water, and under a republican form of government. 

One of the curiosities of London was Madame 
Tussaud's exhibition of wax figures. She has nearly 
all the distinguished characters of the present age, 
as large as life, and executed with remarkable fidelity. 
Robbers, murderers, &c., figure in this strange collec- 
tion. As I was strolling around, I came upon Cob- 
bett, in his plain, Quaker-like garb, without noticing 
him. As I cast my eye down, I saw a man with a 
gray coat and a white hat sitting with a snufi'-box in 
his hand, his head gently nodding, as if in approval 
of something he saw ; and it never occurred to me he 
was not a live man, and I passed him a step without 



152 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

suspecting I was giving a wax figure such a wide 
berth. Among other things, was a corpse of some 
woman, I forget who, the most human looking thing 
I ever saw not made of flesh and blood. In an ad- 
joining apartment were several rehcs of Bonaparte, 
among others, two of his teeth and his traveling car- 
riage. This carriage Napoleon had made on purpose 
for himself and Berthier, and was used by him during 
all his later campaigns. It was divided into two 
compartments, one for himself and one for his chief 
of the staff. Napoleon had it so arranged that he 
could he down and sleep when weary, or when tra- 
veling all night, with a little secretary, which he 
could by a touch, spread open before him, and seve- 
ral drawers for his dispatches and papers of all kinds. 
He had also made arrangements for a traveling 
library, which he designed to fill with small editions 
of the most select books in the world. I could not 
but think, as I sat in it, what vast plans had been 
formed in its narrow apartments — plans changing the 
fate of the world, and what mental agitation and 
suffering it had also witnessed. As it was whirled 
onward along the road, the restless spirit within dis- 
posed of crowns and thrones, changed dynasties, and 
made the earth tremble. From thence issued decrees 
that sent half a milHon of men into the field of 
battle, and from thence, too, terms have been dictated 
to humbled kings. Another of the exhibitions in this 
same building was "artificial Z(?6," a curious thing, 
by the way, to manufacture. 

Windsor Castle is some twelve or fifteen miles from 



I 



EAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 153 

London, and of course is visited by every traveler. 
It was a pleasant morning — that is, as pleasant as it 
ever is in London — when I jumped into the cars of 
the great western railway, and shot ofi* towards Wind- 
sor. I roamed over this magnificent castle with feel- 
ings very difierent from those I had experienced as I 
mused amid the ruins of feudal times on the continent 
Here was an old castle, yet perfect in all its parts, 
enjoying a fresh old age, and blending the present 
with the past, just enough to mellow the one and give 
life to the other. William the Conqueror laid the 
foundation of this structure when he built a fortress 
here, and the kings of England have, from time to 
time, enlarged and repaired it, till it now stands one 
of the finest castles in the world. The Queen being 
at Buckingham Palace, visitors were allowed to pass 
through it without trouble. I am not going to de- 
scribe it ; but there it stands on that eminence, with 
its gray turrets, and round towers and walls, and 
stern aspect, as haughty and imposing an object as 
you could wish to look upon. There are no jousts 
and tournaments to-day in its courts — no floating 
banners that tell of knights gathered for battle ; but 
the sentinel is quietly pacing up and down, and here 
and there a soldier informs you that you are in the 
precincts of royalty. I will not speak of the ante^ 
room, vestibule, throne room, with their paintings 
both in fresco and on canvass ; nor of the Waterloo 
chamber, where William IV. gave dinners in honor 
of the battle of Waterloo ; nor of St. George's Hall, 
two hundred feet long ; nor of the Queen's presence 



154 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

and. audience chamber; nor of the choice paintings 
that cover the walls of these apartments. One must 
see them, to appreciate their effect on the mind. But 
you may, if strong of limb, wind up and up the stone 
staircase of the Round tower, and look off on the 
extended landscape. The mist is not thick to-day, 
and the parks and trees, nay, forests, below, shaven 
lawns, pools, and lakes, are scattered about in endless 
variety. Twelve shires are visible from the summit 
of this tower, and the limitless landscape melts away 
in the distance, for there are no mountains to bound 
the vision. Windsor town is below, and a little far- 
ther away the white walls of Eton College rise amid 
the green foliage. 

Descending from the tower, I left the castle and 
entered St. George's Chapel. The architecture of 
this building is fine. The roof is richly carved, and 
the western window is a magnificent specimen of 
stained glass. But one of the most singular things 
to an American eye is the stalls of the knights of 
the garter, on each side of the choir. As all the 
knights of this order have been installed here, each 
one of course has his stall appropriated to him, and 
there, beneath a carved canopy, hangs his sword, 
mantle, crest, helmet, and mouldering banner. I 
looked upon these silent symbols, covered with dust, 
with strange and blended feelings. Noble names are 
in that list of knights ; but where is the strong arm 
and stalwart frame ? Gone, leaving but these perish- 
ing symbols behind. Their effect on the mind is like 
that of an elegy on the dead — a world of mournful 



RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 155 

associations cluster around them, and their motionless 
aspect and unbroken silence are more eloquent than 
•v^ords. There is a beautiful cenatoph here of the 
Princess Charlotte, erected by Wyatt. The body of 
the Princess is lying on a bier, covered with the habili- 
ments of death, while the face, too, is shrouded in 
drapery. Around her, with faces also veiled, kneel 
the mourners, while the soul of the Princess, in the 
form of an angelic being, is soaring exultingly home- 
wards. As a group of statuary, it has great merits 
as well as some great defects. 

I turned from old Windsor Castle and its feudal 
associations, from St. George's Chapel and its solemn 
and sombre choir, to the Queen's stables. A special 
permit is recjuired to get access to these ; but as I 
had seen how Victoria and her nobles lived, I was 
curious to see also how her horses fared. I do not 
know how many there were in the stables, but I 
should think thirty or forty. Here were beautiful 
carriage horses, saddle horses, and ponies, lodged in 
apartments that tens of thousands of her subjects 
would thank God if they could occupy. Thus goes 
the world. Parliament could reject a bill which appro- 
priated a small sum of money to the purposes of edu- 
cation, and yet vote thirty thousand dollars to re- 
plenish and repair the Queen's stables. Here, too, 
are carriages of every variety, from the delicate, 
fairy-like thing which is drawn by ponies, to the 
heavy travehng carriage ; and bridles and saddles of 
the choicest kind. I could not but think, as I looked 
on these fine apartments for the horses, and the use- 



156 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

less expenditure in carriages, fee, of the starving 
population of London and the thousands of poor 
children in the factories. What kind of government 
is that which will tax the wretched human being, 
nay, deprive him of education, to lavish the money 
on horses and stables ? The English government is 
well fitted for national strength and greatness, but 
most miserably arranged to secure competence to the 
lower classes. However, she is slowly changing be- 
fore that mighty movement that no power can resist 
— the onward progress of the principle of freedom. 
One of these days, these now apparently sluggish and 
wretched masses will rise in their strength and terror, 
and by one terrible blow settle the long arrears of 
guilt with the luxurious, profligate nobility of Eng- 
land, and begin to reap the fields they have so long 
sown. Woe to her when that day shall come ! 



EAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 157 



CHAPTER XL 
RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 

THE TOWER OF LONDON. 

It is said that Webster had scarcely arrived in 
London, before lie ordered a carriage, and drove to 
the Tower. There is probably no building in the 
world so fraught with history, and around which 
cluster so many and varied associations as this. — 
Kings have held their courts there ; and there, too, 
lain in chains. Queens, princes, nobles, and menials 
have by turns occupied its gloomy dungeons. The 
shout of revelry, triumphant strains of music, and 
groans of the dying, and shrieks of murdered victims, 
have successively and together made its massive walls 
ring. Every stone in that gray old structure has a 
history to tell — it stands the grand and gloomy trea- 
sure-house of England's feudal and military glory. 
Centuries have come and gone, whole dynasties dis- 
appeared, and yet that old tower still rises in its 
strength. It has seen old monarchies crumble to 
pieces, and new ones rise — the feeble town become 
the gorgeous and far extending city — the Roman 
galley give place to the fleets of commerce — the 
heavy-armed knight, with his hauberk, and helmet, 

14 



158 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

and shield, disappear before the cabman and omnibus 
driver of London. The pomp and glory of knightly 
days have vanished before the spirit of trade and the 
thirst for gain. The living tide rolls like the sea 
around it ; yet there it stands, silent yet eloquent — 
unwasted by time, unchanged by the changes that 
destroy or modify all things human. It has a double 
effect, standing as it does amid modern improve- 
ments. 

The moment one crosses the ditch and passes un- 
der the gloomy arch, he seems in another world — 
breathing a different atmosphere, and watching the 
progress of a different life. All the armor ever worn 
in ancient days — every instrument of torture or of 
death, used in the dark ages — crowns and sceptres 
and jewels, are gathered here with a prodigality that 
astonishes the beholder. 

We enter by the "Lyons' Gate," and crossing 
what was once occupied as the royal menagerie^ pass 
to the Middle Tower, near which is the Bell Tower, 
where hangs the alarm-bell, whose toll is seldom 
heard. 

Here, John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, was im- 
prisoned for refusing to acknowledge the supremacy 
of Henry VIII., and afterwards executed. A httle 
farther on is the " Traitor's Gate," and near by, the 
Bloody Tower, where, it is said, the two princes — 
nephews of Richard HI. — were suffocated by their 
uncle. The armory is mostly gone, having been de- 
stroyed in the conflagration which took place a few 
years ago. But here is the Horse Armory, a hun- 



RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 159 

dred and fifty feet long, and thirty-three wide, with 
a line of equestrian figures, as if in battle array, 
stretching through the centre. A banner is over 
the head of each — the ceiling is covered with arms 
and accoutrements — the walls with armor and figures 
of ancient warriors ; and over all rest the dust and 
rust of time. That row of twenty-two horsemen, 
large as life, armed to the teeth, with helmet and 
cuirass and breastplate and coats of mail, and lances 
and swords and battle-axes and shields, sitting grim 
and silent there, is a sight one will not easily forget. 
They seem ready to charge on the foe, and their atti- 
tude and aspect are so fierce, that .one almost trembles 
to walk in front of the steeds. 

But pass along these dusty kings and knights of 
old. Here sits Edward I., of 1272, clad in mail 
worn in the time of the crusades, and bearing a shield 
in his left hand. So, haughty king, thou didst look 
when the brave and gallant Wallace lay a prisoner 
in these dungeons, from whence he was dragged by 
thy order, tied to the tails of horses, and quartered 
and torn asunder with fiendish cruelty. 

Next to the tyrant and brute sits Henry VI., who, 
too feeble to rule the turbulent times, became the in- 
mate of a dungeon here, and was one night darkly 
murdered in his cell. Gay Edward IV., in his dash- 
ing armor we pass by, for here sits an ancient knight 
in a suit of ribbed mail, with ear-guards to his helmet 
and rondelles for the armpits, and altogether one of 
the finest suits of armor in the world. Beside him is 
another knight, his horse clad in complete armor, and 



160 EAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

a battleaxe hanging at the saddle-bow. Beware, 
you are crowding against the horse of old Henry 
VIII. That is the very armor the bloody- monarch 
wore. His relentless hand has grasped that short 
sword, and around his brutal form that very belt 
once passed, and beneath that solid breastplate his 
wild and ferocious heart did beat. Horse and horse- 
man are clad in steel from head to heel ; and, as I 
gazed on him there, I wanted to whisper in his ears 
the names of his murdered wives. Here all the pomp 
of royal magnificence honored the nuptials of Anne 
Boleyn, and here, three years after, she lay a pri- 
soner — the beautiful, the honored, and rejected — and 
wrote from her dungeon to her relentless lord, say- 
ing:— 

" Let not your Grace ever imagine that your poor wife will 
ever be brought to acknowledge a fault, when not so much as 
a thought thereof, ever proceeded ^ ^ ^ Try me, good king, 
but let me have a lawfull tryall ; and let not my sworn enemies 
sit as my accusers and judges, yea, let me receive an open 
tryall, for my truth shall fear no open shames ^ ^ ^ But if 
you have already determined of me, and that not only my death, 
but an infamous slander must bring you the enjoying of your 
desired happiness, then I desire of God that he will pardon 
your great sin therein, and likewise mine enemies, the instru- 
ments thereof, and that he will not call you to a strict account 
for your unprincely and cruel usage of me at his general judg- 
ment-seat, where both you and me myself, must shortly appear, 
and in whose judgment, I doubt not, (whatsoever the world 
may think of me,) mine innocence shall be openly recorded and 
sufficiently cleared. 

" From my dolefull prison in the Tower, this 6th of May. 
" Yofir most loyall and ever faithfuU wife, 

''ANNE BOLEYN." 



EAMBLES ABOUT LOIs^DOK. 161 

It availed not, proud king, and that beautiful neck 
was severed at thy command; but, at that dread judg- 
ment to which she summons thee, her tremulous voice 
— lost here on earth in the whirlwind of passion — 
shall be to thy ear louder than a peal of thunder. 
Katharine Howard is another swift witness ; last, 
though not least, the Countess of Salisbury. This 
high-spirited woman, though seventy years of age, 
was condemned to death for treason. When brought 
out for execution, she refused to place her head on 
the block, declaring she was no traitress, and the ex- 
ecutioner followed her around on the scaffold, striking 
at her hoary head with his axe until she fell. But I 
will not dwell on these separate figures. As I looked 
on this long line of kings sitting motionless on their 
motionless steeds, the sinewy hand strained over the 
battleaxe, the identical sword they wielded centuries 
ago flashing on my sight, and the very spurs on their 
heels that were once driven into their war steeds as 
they thundered over the battle plain, the plumes 
seemed to wave before my eyes, and the shout of 
kings to roll through the arches. The hand grasp- 
ing the reins on the horses' necks seemed a live hand, 
and the clash of the sword, the shield, and the battle- 
axe, and the mailed armor, rung in my ear. I looked 
again, and the dream was dispelled. Motionless as 
the walls around them they sat, mere effigies of the 
past. Yet how significant ! Each figure there was 
a history, and all monuments of England's glory as 
she was. At the farther end of the adjoining room 
eat a solitary " crusader on his barbed horse, said to 

14* 



162 HAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

be 700 years old." Stern old grim figure ! on the 
very trappings of thy steed, and on that thick plaited 
mail, has flashed the sun of Palestine. Thou didst 
stand perchance with that gallant host led on by the 
wondrous hermit, on the last hill that overlooked Je- 
rusalem, and when the Holy City was seen lying like 
a beautiful vision below, glittering in the soft light of 
an eastern sunset, that flooded Mount Moriah, Mount 
Zion, and Mount Olivet, with its garden of sufi*ering, 
and more than all. Mount Calvary, the voice from 
out that visor did go up with the mighty murmur of 
the bannered host, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem!'' On 
that very helmet perchance has the cimeter broke, 
and from that mailed breast the spear of the Infidel 
rebounded. Methinks I hear thy battle shout, " To 
the rescue !" as thy gallant steed is borne into the 
thickest of the fight, where thy brave brethren are 
struggling for the Cross and the Sepulchre. 

But crusades and crusaders are well-nigh forgotten. 
For centuries the dust of the desert has drifted over 
the bones of the chivalry of Europe. The Arab still 
spurs his steed through the forsaken streets of ancient 
Jerusalem, and the Muezzin's voice rings over the 
sepulchre of the Saviour. 

But let these grim figures pass. Here is the room 
in which Sir Walter Raleigh lay a prisoner. By his 
gross flatteries he had won the favor of Elizabeth, 
who lavished honors upon him until she at length 
discovered his amour with the beautiful Elizabeth 
Throckmorton. Her rage then knew no bounds, 
and was worthy of her character, and she cast the 



RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON. 163 

luckless, accomplished courtier into the Tower. Up 
and down this very stone floor he has paced day after 
day, pondering on the sad change that has befallen 
him, and sighing heavily for the splendor and luxury 
he has lost. He did not, however, despair ; he knew 
too well the weakness of his termagant mistress, and 
so, one day, as he saw from that window the queen's 
barge passing by, he threw himself into a paroxysm 
of passion, and in his ravings besought the jailer to 
let him go forth in disguise, and get but one look of 
his dear mistress. His request being refused, he feU 
upon the keeper, and finally drew his dagger. Good 
care was taken that this extraordinary mad fit should 
be reported to Ehzabeth. Raleigh followed up the 
news with a well-timed letter, which so won upon the 
vixen that she liberated him. Said he, in this rare 
epistle : " My heart was never broken till this day, 
that I hear the queen goes away so far ofi*, whom I 
have followed so many years with so great love and 
desire in so many journeys, and am now left behind 
in a dark prison, all alone. While she was yet near 
at hand, that I might hear of her once in two or three 
days, my sorrows were the less, but even now my 
heart is cast into the depth of misery. I, that was 
wont to behold her riding like Alexander^ hunting 
like Diana^ walking like Vemis^ the gentle wind 
hloiving her fair hair about her pure face like a 
nymph — sometimes sitting in the shade like a god- 
dess, sometimes singing like an angel, sometimes 
playing like Orpheus. Behold the sorrows of this 
world once amiss, hath bereaved me of all.'* 



164 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

Elizabeth was at this time sixty years old, ugly as 
death's head, and yet the foolish old thing swallowed 
it all. Her tiger heart relented, and she released her 
cunning lover. 

It seems strange that a woman of her strength of 
intellect could have a weakness so perfectly ridicu- 
lous and childlike. But flattery was never too gross 
for her, and Raleigh knew it. He had ^Dften filled 
her royal ear with such nonsense before, and seen her 
wrinkled face relax into a smile of tenderness — com- 
ical from its very ugliness. So goes the world; 
every man has his weak side, and the strongest cha- 
racter is assailable in some one direction. Pride, or 
vanity, or envy, or covetousness, or passion, furnishes 
an inlet to the citadel, and it falls. 



RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 165 



CHAPTER XIL 
EAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 

THE REaALIA. — BANK OF ENGLAND. — THAMES TUNNEL. 
OUT OF LONDON. — MURDERINa OF THE KING'S ENG- 
LISH. — OXFORD.— STRATFORD-ON-AYON. 

I INTENDED, in my last, to go more into details of 
the Tower ; but I will mention only one or two things. 
In Queen Elizabeth's armory are stored all the va- 
rieties of ancient weapons of warfare. There are the 
glaive, giusarne, the bill, catchpole, Lochaber axe, 
two-handed battleaxe, halberd, crossbows, &c. Pass- 
ing over the rooms and instruments of torture,, let us 
drop for a moment into the tower house containing 
the regalia. Here, in a single glass case, are gathered 
all the crown jewels, diadems, sceptres, &c., of rich 
old England. There are five crowns in all, and five 
royal sceptres, heavy with gold and flashing with 
diamonds. The queen's diadem, made for the wife 
of James II., is a single circlet of gold, yet, with its 
large, richly set diamonds and edging of pearls, it 
cost a half million of dollars. Victoria's crown has 
a large cross in front entirely frosted with brilliants, 
and in the centre a single sapphire, two inches long, 
and blue as heaven — it is the size of a small egg. 



166 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

There leans St. Edward's staff, four feet and a half 
long, and of pure gold, and near it a royal sceptre, 
three feet and a half in length, radiant with its own 
jeweled light. There, too, are the golden eagle, 
which holds the aijointing oil for their most gracious 
sovereigns — the anointing spoon — the great golden 
salt-cellar of state, surrounded with twelve smaller 
ones, all of gold — the baptismal font, in which Vic- 
toria and the present Prince of Wales were both 
baptized, silver-gilt, four feet high — and the heavy 
sacramental plate — two massive tankards, all of solid 
gold. 

" Only sixpence a sight," and lo ! the eye feasts 
on this profusion of diamonds, and jewels, and pre- 
cious stones. Millions of money have been wasted 
on these baubles, and there they idly flash year after 
year, while their worth expended on famishing Ire- 
land, would give bread to every starving family, or 
instruction to every ignorant and depraved child of 
the kingdom. But this is the way of the world — 
millions for show, but not a cent for wretched, 
starving men. 

With a mere glance at the Bank of England and 
the Thames Tunnel^ and we will away to the open 
country — to the green hedge-rows and rolling fields 
of merry old England. The Bank of England is a 
fine building : ^^ It is an immense and very extensive 
stone edifice, situated a short distance north-west of 
Corn Hill. The principal entrance is from Thread- 
needle street. It is said this building covers five 
acres of ground. Business hours from nine o'clock 



RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 167 

until five P. M. There are no windows opening on 
the street ; light is admitted through open courts ; no 
mob could take the bank, therefore, without cannon 
to batter the immense walls. There are nine hundred 
clerks employed in the bank, and not one foreigner 
among the whole. Should a clerk be too old for ser- 
vice, he is discharged on half-pay for life. The clock 
in the centre of the bank has fifty dials attached to 
it; each of the rooms has a dial, in order that all 
in the bank should know the true time. Large cis- 
terns are sunk in the courts, and engines in perfect 
order, always in readiness in case of fire. The bank 
was incorporated in 1694. Capital c£18,000,000 ster- 
ling, or ^90,000,000.'' 

The Tunnel is one of the chief wonders of London. 
This subterranean passage is thirty feet beneath the 
bed of the Thames River, and twenty-two feet high. 
It is thirteen hundred feet long and thirty-eight wide, 
and lighted with gas. One has strange emotions in 
standing under these dark, damp arches. Over his 
head is rushing a deep river, and vessels are floating, 
and steamboats are ploughing the water, and he can- 
not but think of the effect a small leak would produce, 
and what his chance would be in a general break-down 
of the arches above. 

The Tunnel is composed of two arches, with a row 
of immense columns in the centre. It is designed 
for carriages, but is not yet sufficiently completed to 
receive them. You descend by a winding staircase, 
and passing under the river emerge into daylight by 
a similar staircase on the farther side. Little hand 



168 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

printing-presses, fruit and candy tables, and nick- 
nacks of various kinds, are strung through this 
passage. 

As I was sauntering along, suddenly I heard a 
low humming sound which startled me prodigiously. 
The first thought was that the masonry above had 
given way, and that ringing was the steady pressure 
of the down-rushing waters. The bare possibility of 
being buried up there was too horrible to entertain 
for a moment. I looked anxiously round ; but find- 
ing no one, not even those who lived there, the least 
alarmed, I concluded it was all right, and walked on. 
But that strange humming-ringing grew louder and 
louder, and completely bewildered me. It had no 
rising swell, or sinking cadence, but monotonous, 
deep, and constant, kept rising every moment louder 
and clearer. Hastening forward, I came to the far- 
ther entrance of the Tunnel, and there sat a man 
and boy, one with a violin and the other with a harp 
— the innocent authors of all the strange, indescrib- 
able sounds that had so confused me. The endless 
reverberations amid those long arches so completely 
mingled them together — one overtaking, and blend- 
ing in with another, and the whole bounding back in 
a mass to be again split asunder, and tossed about, 
created such a jargon as I never before listened to. 
The sounds could not escape, and in their struggles 
to do so — hitting along the roof and sides of the 
Tunnel — they at length lost all distinctness of utter- 
ance, and became tangled up in the most astonishing 
manner. 



RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 169 

At length I bade smoky London adieu, and driv- 
ing early one morning to a stage-office, booked my- 
self for Oxford. As I was waiting for the stage to 
start, I stepped into a shop near by for some crack- 
ers, thinking perhaps my early breakfast would leave 
me with something of an appetite before it was time 
to dine. But, to my surprise, the keeper told me he 
had no "crackers," and looked as though he regarded 
me a lunatic, or fresh from some remote region, I 
returned his look of surprise, for there before me 
were bushels of crackers. All at once I remembered 
that cracker was an Americanism, and that English- 
men call every thing of the kind biscuit. This put 
matters right. 

In a short time we were trundling through the long 
streets of London, and at length passing from the 
dirty suburbs, found ourselves in the open country. 
For a while it was pleasant, but we soon came to a 
barren, desolate tract, which quite damped the hopes 
with which we had set out. 

But this being passed, we entered on the beauti- 
ful farming districts of England. The roads were 
perfect, and the long green hedge-rows gently rolling 
over the slopes ; the masses of dark foliage sprinkled 
here and there through the fields ; and the fine brac- 
ing air, combined to lift our spirits up to the enjoying 
point. I had taken a seat on the top of the coach, 
and hence could overlook the whole country. Marlow, 
which we passed, is a pretty place, and the seats o^ 
English gentlemen along the road are picturesque and 
beautiful. 

15 



170 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

As we were descending a gentle inclination to 
Henley-on-the-Thames, the valley that opened on our 
view was lovely beyond description. But just here 
an accident overtook us ; one of our wheels broke, 
and we were compelled to foot it into town. The 
driver immediately sent one of those hangers-on, 
around taverns and stables, to a coachmaker to see 
if he could obtain a coach or extra wheel. As he 
came slouching back, I was struck with his reply. 
English people are always ridiculing the language 
spoken in this country ; but that loafer beat a down- 
easter out and out. He had been unsuccessful, and 
as he came up he drawled out, " He hain't got nary 
coach nor nary wheel!" Now, an ignorant Yankee 
might have said, "He hain't got nary coach nor 
wheel," but he never would have doubled the "nary" 
— this was wholly English. I had often noticed a 
similar dreadful use of the English language among 
the cabmen of London; they are altogether worse 
than our cabmen at home. 

We, however, succeeded in getting under way at 
last, and reached Oxford just as the clouds began to 
pour their gathered treasures down. 

I will not attempt to describe old Oxford. It is 
a venerable place, and the pile of buildings which 
compose the University, one of the most imposing I 
have ever seen. Old and time-worn, with their grave 
architecture and ancient look, they present a striking 
appearance amid the green-sward that surrounds 
them. Of the Bodleian and Radcliffe libraries I 
shall say nothing. In conversing with one of the 



RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 171 

tutors of the Uniyersity, I was surprised to learn that 
Pusey was regarded there rather as an honest old 
granny than an able and profound man. 

The morning I left Oxford for Stratford-on-the- 
Avon was as beautiful a one as ever smiled over 
New England. The fragmentary clouds went troop- 
ing over the -sky, the fresh, cool wind swept cheer- 
fully by, and the newly-washed meadows and fields 
looked as if just preparing themselves for a holiday. 
Again I took my seat on the top of the coach, with 
two or three others, and started away. We soon 
picked up an additional companion — a pretty young 
woman — who also climbed to the roof of the coach. 
The inside was full, and you must know that an 
Englishman never gives up his seat to a lady. He 
takes the place he has paid for, and expects all others, 
of whatever sex, to do the same. If it rains, he says 
it is unfortunate, but supposes that the lady knew the 
risk when she took her seat, and expects her to bear 
her misfortune like a philosopher. 

This lady, I should think, from her general appear- 
ance and conversation, was a governess. She had 
evidently traveled a good deal, and was very talka- 
tive and somewhat inquisitive. When she discovered 
I was an American, she very gravely remarked, that 
she mistrusted it before from my complexion. Now ' 
it must be remembered that I have naturally the 
tinge of a man belonging to a southern clime, which 
had been considerably deepened by my recent expo- 
sures in the open air in Italy and along the Rhine. 
Supposing that all Americans were tawny from their 



172 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

close relationsliip to the aborigines of our country, 
she attributed my swartbiness to the Indian hlood in 
my veins. I confessed myself sufficiently surprised 
at her penetration, and humored her inquisitiveness. 
She left us at Stratford, bidding my friend and my- 
self good-by with a dignified shake of the hand. We 
of course regarded this great condescension on her 
part to two Indians, with proper respect, attributing 
it to the comparative fluency with which we spoke 
English. She evidently thought us savages of more 
than ordinary education. 

After dinner, I strolled out to the house of Shaks- 
peare, a low, miserable affair at the best, and hardly 
large enough for three persons. Yet here the great 
dramatist was born. After going through it, I went 
to the church where his bones repose, and read, with 
strange feelings, the odd inscription he directed to be 
placed over his tomb. 

It was a beautiful day, and I went out and sat 
down on the banks of the Avon, beside the church, 
and gazed long on the rippling waters and green 
slopes of the neighboring hills and greener hedges. 
Cattle were lazily browsing in the fields ; the ancient 
trees beside the church bent and sighed as the fresh 
breeze swept by, and all was tranquillity and beauty. 
I had never seen so pure a sky in England. The air 
was clear and bracing, and, although it was the 
middle of August, it seemed like a bright June day 
at home. 

How many fancies a man will sometimes weave, 
and yet scarce know why ! A single chord of memory 



HAMBLES IN ENaLAND. 173 

is, perhaps, touched, or some slight association mil 
arise, followed by a hundred others, as one bird, start- 
ing from the brake, will arouse a whole flock, and 
away they go swarming together. It was thus as I 
sat on the banks of the Avon, soothed by the ripple 
of its waters. Along this stream Shakspeare had 
wandered in his boyhood, and cast his dark eye over 
this same landscape. What gorgeous dreams here 
wrapp€d his youthful imagination, and strange, wild 
vagaries crossed his mind. Old England then was 
merry, and plenty reigned in her halls, and good cheer 
was every where to be found. But now want and 
poverty cover the land. Discontent is written on half 
the faces you meet, and the murmurs of a coming 
storm are heard over the distant heavens. 

Farewell, sweet Avon ! your bright waters, bor- 
dered with green fields, and sparkling in light, are 
like a pleasant dream. 



15* 



174 ^ RAMBLES AND SKETCHES, 



CHAPTER XIIL 
RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 

guy's cliff. — ^WARWICK CASTLE. — KENILWORTH CAS- 
TLE. — COVENTRY. — PEEPING TOM. — CHARTISTS. 

I WILL not speak of Woodstock, whicli Scott has 
made immortal ; for the village of that name is merely 
a collection of dirty-looking hovels, arranged along 
the street in blocks, like houses. 

Gruy's Cliff is distinguished as the home of the 
stern old Sir Guy, renowned in the feudal wars. A 
mile farther on are Warwick and Warwick Castle. 
The village itself looks like a fragment of antiquity, 
though the streets were somewhat enlivened, the day 
I passed through them, by multitudes of men, women, 
children, cows, horses, and sheep, to say nothing of 
vegetables and saleables of all kinds and quality. 
One of those fairs so common in England, and so 
characteristic of the people, was being held, and I 
had a good view of the peasantry. The yeomanry 
collected at one of our cattle-shows are gentlemen 
compared to them. 

I will not describe the castle, with its massive walls 
and ancient look, for the impression such things make 
does not result from this or that striking object, but 



RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 175 

from the whole combined. The walls may be thick, 
the moat deep, the turrets high and hoary, and the 
rusty armor within massy and dinted — it is not either 
of these that arrests your footsteps and makes you 
stand and dream, but the history they altogether un- 
roll, and the images your own imagination calls up 
from the past. 

The rusty sword of this strong-limbed old earl is 
five feet long, and weighs twenty pounds, his shield 
thirty pounds, breastplate alone fifty-six pounds, 
and helmet seven pounds, to say nothing of his mas- 
sive coat of mail. It was no baby hand wTiich wield- 
ed that sword or held that shield. A strong heart 
beat under that breastplate of fifty-six pounds in 
weight ; and when, mounted on his gigantic war-horse, 
clad also in steel from head to foot, he spurred into 
the battle, the strongest knights went down in his 
path, and his muffled shout was like the trumpet of 
victory. 

Thence we proceeded to Kenilworth Castle, a mere 
ruin, standing solitary and broken amid the green 
fields. Gone are its beautiful lake, drawbridge, port- 
cullis, and moat — its strong turrets have crumbled, 
while over the decayed and decaying walls the ivy 
creeps unchecked. It is one of the most picturesque 
ruins I have ever seen. Here and there a portion 
remains almost entire, while in other places a heap of 
rubbish alone tells where a magnificent apartment 
once rung to the shout of wassailers. The bow-win- 
dow, in which sat the flattered Earl of Leicester and 
the proud Elizabeth, and looked down on the grand 



176 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

tournament, is still entire. As I stood here and 
gazed below on the green-sward, now spreading where 
the gay and noble once trod in pride, and around on 
the ruin whose battlements once glittered with deco- 
rations in honor of the haughty queen, and before 
me, through the gateway, where the gorgeous pro- 
cession passed, the pageantry of life soemed a dream. 
There chargers had careered, and trumpets rung, and 
helmets bowed in homage ; and there now swung an 
old gate, kept by a solitary old porter. The snake 
and lizard occupy the proud halls of Leicester, and of 
all the beautiful and brave who once thronged these 
courts, not one remains. The old walls and crum- 
bling stones have outlasted them all, and serve only 
as a tombstone to what has been. "What wild heart- 
throbbings, and dizzy hopes, and bitter griefs, have 
been within these ruined inclosures ! But now all is 
still and deserted — the banners flutter no more from 
the battlements ; the armed knight spurs no more over 
the clattering drawbridge ; lord and vassal have dis- 
appeared. Time, has outwatched each warder, and 
hung his mouldering hatchet over all who have lived 
and struggled here. As I behold in imagination the 
stern, severe Ehzabeth, passing beneath yonder arch 
on her gallant steed, and princes and nobles of every 
degree pressing on her steps, and then turn to the 
deserted ruin, I involuntarily exclaim^ "ghosts are 
we all." 

Ah, proud Leicester ! what deeds of thine could 
these dumb walls, had they a tongue, tell ! What re- 
cords are registered in their mouldering forms against 



EAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 177 

thee ! Kenilworth, thy Kenilworth, is apparently de- 
serted ; but around it still linger, metliinks, the spirits 
of those thou host wronged, nay, perchance, murdered. 
It was with strange feelings I turned away from 
this beautiful ruin. The heavens were gathering 
blackness, and now and then a big drop came danc- 
ing to the earth, and all betokened a storm at hand. 
Had the fading sunlight gilded its dilapidated turrets 
as I passed from under its silent arches, it would not 
have seemed so mournful ; but, amid this suspense of 
the elements and increasing gloom, its irregular form 
had a sad aspect, and left a sad impression. 

When I first approached the castle, I was struck 
with the curious English used by a girl, perhaps thir- 
teen years of age, who had little pamphlets, describ- 
ing the ruin and giving its history, to sell. As she 
advanced to meet me, holding the book in her hand, 
she exclaimed: "A shilling, sir, for the book, or a 
sixpence for the lend'' "A sixpence for the lend,'' 
I replied ; '^ what do you mean by that ?" On inquiry, 
I discovered that the price of the book was a shilling, 
but that she would lend it to me to go over the castle 
with for half price. Thinks I to myself, you might 
travel the length and breadth of the Atlantic States, 
and not hear such an uncouth English sentence as 
that. 

Coventry is on the railroad that connects Liver- 
pool and London. It has a quaint old church, and 
a quaint look about it altogether. As I strolled 
through the graveyard, I seemed to be among the 
fragments of a past world — the very tombstones 



178 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

looked as if they had mthstood the deluge. As I 
wandered about, dreaming rather than thinking, 
strains of music stole out from the antiqurted struc- 
ture, soothing my feelings, and filling my heart with 
a pleasure composed half of sadness. 

One of the greatest curiosities of this place, it is 
well known, is "Peeping Tom." The story of Lady 
Godiva has been woven into poetry as well as prose, 
and is known the world over. Her husband. Earl 
Leofric, was captain-general of all the forces under 
King Canute, and exercised his power in laying 
heary taxes on his subjects. Those of Coventry 
wer^ ground to the earth by his oppression, and 
though their sufi*erings could not move his iron heart, 
they filled the soul of the gentle Godiva with the 
deepest sorrow. Impelled by her sympathies, she 
constantly, but in vain, besought her lord to lessen 
the burdens of the people. But once, being received 
after a long absence with enthusiastic afi*ection, he in 
his sudden joy asked her to make any request, and 
he would grant it. Taking advantage of his kind- 
ness, she petitioned for his subjects. The stern old 
earl was fairly caught, but he hoped to extricate him- 
self by imposing a condition as brutal as it was cruel. 
Knowing the modesty of his lovely wife, he promised 
to grant her request, provided she would ride naked 
through the streets of Coventry. "Any thing," she 
replied, " for my suffering people." He was aston- 
ished ; but, thinking she would fail in the hour of trial, 
promised to fulfil his part of the contract. Godiva 
appointed a day ; and Leofric, finding she was deter- 



RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 179 

mined, ordered the people to darken the fronts of 
their houses and shut themselves up, while the Lady 
Godiva was passing. They joyfully obeyed, and the 
blushing, frightened benefactress, with her long tresses 
streaming over her form, rode unclad through the 
streets. All was silent and deserted ; but one man, 
a tailor, could not restrain his curiosity, and peeped 
forth from an upper window to get sight of her. In 
a moment, Godiva's charger stopped and neighed. 
The fair rider, being startled, turned her face and 
saw the unfortunate tailor. Instantly the poor fel- 
low's eyes dropped out of his head, in punishment of 
his meanness. 

So runs the tradition, and so it has run from time 
immemorial. In the time of Richard II., a painting 
was placed in Trinity Church, representing the earl 
and his wife — ^the former holding in his hand a char- 
ter, on which is iuscribed, 

'« I, Leofric, for the love of thee. 
Doe make Coventrie tol-free." 

I had heard of '' Peeping Tom." and went in search 
of him. I had forgotten, however, that he occupied 
the upper story of a house, and went the whole length 
of the street in which I was informed he was placed, 
without finding him. I expected to see a statue 
standing in some corner upon the ground, and hence 
was compelled to inquire more particularly of his 
whereabouts. Yrhen at length I caught a glimpse of 
him, with his cocked hat on, peeping from an aper- 
ture in the corner of a house standing at the inter- 



180 EAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

section of two streets, I had a long and hearty laugh. 
His appearance was comical in the extreme, as it 
stood looking down on the throng of promenaders. 
The man who owns the house receives an annual sti- 
pend for allowing it to remain there, and every two 
years it is clad in a new suit, made after the fashion 
of the tenth century. On these occasions, the shops 
are closed as on Sundays, and a procession of the 
citizens, with the mayor at their head, passes through 
the principal streets of the place, accompanied by a 
woman dressed in white or flesh-colored tights, on 
horseback. When they come opposite ''Tom,'' the 
procession halts, the high sheriff invests the effigy in 
its new suit, and the imposing ceremonies are ended. 
This was the year for the procession, but I arrived too 
late to witness it. A woman of rather easy virtue, 
clad in a flesh-colored suit, fitting tight to her skin, 
was placed on a horse, and, with a quantity of false 
hair falling around her form, represented the lovely 
Godiva. I could not but think how such a procession 
with such comical ceremonies, would appear in New 
York, and what the good people of that practical city 
w^ould do on such an occasion. 

As I was strolling about, I came upon three or four 
hardy, weather-beaten men, one of whom came up to 
me, and said : " Sir, I am not in the habit of begging, 
but my master in Stafford has broke, and I am left 
without work. I came here with my family to find 
work, but cannot, and have sold my last bed and 
blanket to buy provisions. If you could give me 
something, I should be much obliged to you." This 



RAMBLES IN LONDON. 181 

■was said in a manly tone — so unlike tlie "wliimng ac- 
cents of a continental beggar, that I was struck with 
it. "Why," said I, "this is very strange — here you 
are, a strong man, with two good arms, and a pair of 
stout hands at the end of them, and yet are starving 
in the richest kingdom of the world. This is very 
strange — what is it all coming to?" He turned his 
eye upon me with the look of a tiger, and exclaimed : 
" What is it all coming ? Why it is coming to this, 
one of these days," and he struck his brawny fists 
together with a report like that of a pistol. I need 
not say that I gave him money. 

A strong man, willing to work for his daily bread, 
and yet denied the privilege, is the saddest sight 
under the sun. 



16 



182 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER XIV. 
RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 

BIRMINGHAM. — LIVERPOOL. — A TALL WOMAN. — BEG- 
GARS. — CHESTER. — NORTH WALES. 

It is only eighteen miles from Coventry to Bir- 
mingham, and by the great London and Liverpool 
railway the distance is made in forty minutes. So, 
just at evening, myself and friend jumped in the cars, 
and soon found ourselves amid the tall chimneys of 
this great manufacturing city of England. It is use- 
less to repeat the story of factory life, or describe 
over again, for the fortieth time, the sickly children 
and girls who spend their days (few enough) at the 
looms and in the unhealthy apartments of those im- 
mense cotton-mills. Money is coined out of human 
life ; and degradation, and want, and misery are the 
price this great kingdom pays for its huge manufac- 
turing cities. 

But one thing in my hotel struck me especially. 
It is well known, notwithstanding the complaints of 
English travelers of our love of money, that, next to 
Italy, England is the most dishonest country in the 
world to travel in. The hackman cheats you — ^the 
landlord cheats you, and the servants cheat you. 



RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 183 

You are fleeced the length and breadth of the king- 
dom. Such outrages as you are compelled to submit 
to would not be tolerated for a moment in the United 
States. You are not only charged enormously for 
your board, but are compelled to make up the ser- 
vants' wages — each man paying such a sum that 
servants give the landlord a large price for their 
places, demanding nothing for their labor. In travel- 
ing, you not only pay your fare, but every time the 
horses are changed, or once in fifteen or twenty miles, 
are expected to give the driver an English shilling, or 
about twenty-five cents our money. But this land- 
lord of Birmingham was none of your swindlers — he 
scorned to fleece travelers — and would have no one 
in his house who practised it. So he had regulations 
printed and neatly framed, hung up in the apartments, 
on purpose, it was stated, to prevent those who stop- 
ped at his house from being imposed upon. Servants 
were not allowed to demand any thing, and it was 
contrary to the rules of the house to charge more 
than four shillings (a dollar) for a bed, the same for 
dinner and breakfast ; or, in other words, it was not 
permitted to ask more than about four dollars a day 
from any person, unless he had extras. I could not 
but exclaim, as I turned towards my bed — " Honest 
man ! how grateful travelers must feel for the interest 
you take in their welfare ! No cheating here ; and 
one can lay his head on his pillow in peace, knowing 
that in the morning there will be no trickery in the 
account — a dollar for his sleep, a dollar for his break- 
fast, and he can depart in peace!" 



184 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

The approach to Liverpool through the tunnel is 
any thing but pleasant — this subterranean traveling 
is unnatural — it seems a great deal worse to be killed 
under ground than in the clear air of heaven, and 
beneath the calm, quiet sky. Liverpool is an un- 
pleasant city to stop in ; yet,' before I embarked, I 
was compelled to spend a month there. I will not 
describe it ; I do not like to describe cities — they are 
simply a confused heap of houses^ an endless web of 
streets. One day, as I was sauntering along, I saw 
in a stairway leading to the second floor, a man two- 
thirds dmnk — dressed like a clown, with a single 
feather in his cap, and a monkey hopping to and from 
his shoulder. Holding on to a rope, and swinging 
backwards and forwards on the steps in his drunken- 
ness, he kept bawling out to the passers by, "Walk 
up, gentlemen — only a penny a piece — the tallest 
woman in the world, besides, Oliver Cromwell, Queen 
Elizabeth, Henry VIIL, and other great men, large 
as life — only one penny a sight — well worth the 
money. Walk up, gentlemen !'' It was such an 
out-of-the-way-looking hole, and withal such a comi- 
cal advertisement, that I presented my penny, and 
"walked up^'' and sure enough there was a woman 
seven feet high, towering head and shoulders above 
me. She was slender, which, with her female ap- 
parel, that always exaggerates the height, made her 
appear a greater giantess even than she was. I could 
not believe my eyes, and suspected there was some 
trickery practised, and told the exhibitor so. He 
immediately requested her to sit down, and take oflf 



RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 185 

her shoes and stockings, and then asked me to feel 
of her feet and ankles. I did so, and found that they 
were actually bone and muscle. But, to use a 
western phrase, she was " a> tall specimen," and I 
came to the conclusion I had seen three of the most 
remarkable women in the world. First, a French 
woman who weighed six hundred and twenty-four 
pounds — a mountain of flesh; second, an Italian 
without arms, who could write, thread a needle, em- 
broider, sketch, load and fire a pistol with her toes, 
and last of all, this English girl, seven feet high, or 
thereabouts. 

Another day, as I was passing along a by-street, 
I heard some one singing, and soon after a man in 
his shirt sleeves emerged into view, leading four 
children — two on each side — and singing as he ap- 
proached. He took the middle of the street — the 
children carrying empty baskets — and thus traversed 
the city. I soon discovered that he was a beggar, 
and this was his mode of asking alms. With his head 
up, and a smile on his countenance, he was singing 
at the top of his voice, something about a happy 
family. At all events, the burden of his strain was 
the happiness he enjoyed with his children: how 
pleasant their home was for the love that dwelt in 
it, &c. He did not speak of his poverty and sujQfer- 
ings, or describe the starvation in his hovel; but, 
taking a different tack, solicited charity on the 
ground that people ought to keep such a happy 
family in the continued possession of their happiness. 
Where begging is so common, imposture so frequent, 

16* 



186 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

and men's hearts have become so steeled against the 
pitiful tale and the haggard face, the appearance of 
suffering accomplishes but little ; and I could not but 
admire the man's ingenuity in thus striking out a 
new path for himself. Still, it was pitiful to watch 
him — it seemed such an effort to appear happy, and 
the hungry-looking children at his side, though trained 
to their task, and wearing bright faces, seemed so 
way-worn and weary. I followed their footsteps with 
my eyes till they turned an angle of the street, and 
as their voices died away in the distance, I fell into 
one of my fits of musing on life, its strange destinies, 
and the unfathomable mystery attached to the une- 
qual distribution of good and evil in it. Alas ! how 
different is the same man, that is, the outward man 
Circumstances have placed one on a throne, and his 
heart is haughty, his glance defiant, and his spirit 
proud and overbearing. Misfortune has placed an- 
other in poverty and want, and he crouches at your 
feet^ — solicits, with trembhng hands and eyes full of 
tears, a mere moiety for his children. Injustice, 
abuse, contempt, cannot sting him into resistance or 
arouse his wrath. With his manhood all broken 
down, he crawls the earth, the by-word and jest of 
his fellows. Yet life to him is just as solemn as to 
the monarch — it has the same responsibilities, the 
same destinies. That humbled and degraded spirit 
will yet stand up in all its magnificent proportions, 
and assert its rank in the universe of God. The 
heap of rags will blaze hke a star in its immortaHty 
— and yet that unfortunate creature may struggle 



RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 187 

and suffer through this life, and enter on another only 
to experience still greater unhappiness. The ways of 
Heaven are indeed dark and beyond the clouds. 

My friend left me at Liverpool, and took the 
steamer for Dublin, where I promised, in a few days, 
to meet him. I wished to make the land route 
through North Wales, and then cross over the Chan- 
nel. Crossing the Mersey in a ferry-boat, I took the 
cars for the old city of Chester, lying on the confines 
of England and Wales. This ancient town, which 
has borne such a part in the history of England, 
stands just as it did centuries ago. The same im- 
mense wall surrounds it that guarded it in knightly 
days. It environs the entire place, and is so broad 
that the top furnishes a fine promenade for three 
abreast. Towards evening I wandered without the 
walls, and strolled away towards the banks of the 
Dee. It was a lovely afternoon for England — the 
sky was clear, and the air pure and invigorating. A 
single arch is sprung across the stream, said to be 
one of the largest in the world. It is a beautiful 
curve, and presents a picturesque appearance, leaping 
so far from one green bank to another. Along the 
shore, winding through the field, is a raised embank- 
ment, covered with green turf for a promenade. Along 
this, ladies and gentlemen were sauntering in groups, 
while here and there a fisherman was gasting his line. 
It was a lovely scene — there on the quiet banks of 
the Dee, and in full view of the ofd walls of Chester, 
I sat down under a tree, and thought long and anx- 
iously of home. It is always thus — in the crowded 



188 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

city, and turmoil and hurry of travel, one almost for- 
gets he has a home or far-distant friends- — but a single 
strain of soothing music, one quiet night, or one lonely 
Tvalk, brings them all back to him, and he wonders 
that he ever left them for boisterous scenes. One 
hour we are all energy and will — wishing for a field 
of great risks and great deeds, and feel confined and 
straitened for want of greater scope and freer action 
— the next, we feel lost in the world of active life 
around us — utterly unequal to its demands on our 
energies, and thirst only for a quiet home and more 
tranquil enjoyments. The land of my birth looked 
greener to me there, on the banks of the Dee, than 
ever before — and the wide waste of waters never so 
wide and unfriendly. 

At sunset, I took the stage-coach for the western 
coast of Wales. I traveled till midnight, and then 
stopped to make the rest of the route along the north 
shore by daylight. A little Welsh inn received me, 
the landlady of which, in return for my politeness to 
her, secured me a seat next day in the coach, which 
I otherwise should have lost. She had been accus- 
tomed to the haughty bearing of Englishmen, and 
though I treated her with only the civility common in 
my own country, it seemed so uncommon to her, that 
she asked me where I resided. She seemed delighted 
when I told her in America, and the next morning 
prevailed on the driver to give me a seat, though he 
had told me the coach was full. 

1 had read much of Wales, and had obtained, when 
a boy, very extravagant ideas of the wildness of its 



RAMBLES IN ENGLAND. 189 

scenery from Mrs. Hemans' poems. It did not occur 
to me that I had just come from the Alps, the grand- 
est scenery on the globe, and hence should prepare 
for disappointment; but expected to be astonished 
with beetling crags and lofty mountains, until at last 
Snowden crowned the whole, as Mont Blanc does the 
peaks that environ him. I never stopped to question 
my impressions, nor inquire when or where I derived 
them ; and hence was wholly unprepared for the dimi- 
nutive hills that met my gaze. One must never form 
a notion of a cataract or a mountain from an English- 
man's description of it. Living on an island and in 
a rolling country which furnishes no elevations of 
magnitude, and hence no large streams, he regards 
those relatively large of immense size. Still, the 
north coast of Wales presents bold and rugged 
features ; and with its old castles frowning amid the 
desolate scenery — gray as the rock they stand on — ^is 
well worth a visit. 



190 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER XV. 
RAMBLES IN WALES. 

PENRYNN QUARRIES. — HOMEWARD BOUND. — SCOTCH 
BOY. — STORM AT SEA. — HOME. 

The north coast of Wales is studded with old cas- 
ties — some of which are in ruins, and others in a 
good state of preservation. Many a fierce struggle 
and wild tale they could tell, could they but reveal 
their history. Cromwell's army has thundered against 
their walls, and England's chivalry dashed over their 
battlements; and deeds of daring, and of darkness 
too, stained every stone with blood. Our road lay 
right along the base of one, with old towers still 
standing, and the ancient drawbridge still resting on 
its ancient foundations. A little farther on, the whole 
breast of the mountain seemed converted into a 
modern castle ; for ramparts rose over every ridge, 
and turreted battlements stretched along every pre- 
cipitous height. 

Nothing can be more bleak and desolate than the 
north coast of Wales. The rocky shores, treeless, 
shrubless mountains, and ruined castles, combine to 
render the scene sombre and gloomy. At length we 
reached Bangor, from whence I made a visit to the 



RAMBLES IN WALES. 191 

slate quarries of Mr. Tennant. This gentleman was 
an English colonel; but being so fortunate as to 
marry the only daughter of the owner of these ex- 
tensive quarries, he threw up his profession, and set- 
tled down in Wales. Becoming sole heir to Penrynn 
Castle, on the death of his father-in-law, he improved 
it by additions and renovations; till now, with its 
extensive and beautiful grounds, it is well worth a 
visit. The quarries, however, were more interesting 
to me than the castle, for they are said to be the 
largest in the world; yielding the proprietor a net 
income of nearly one hundred thousand dollars per 
annum. The whole mountain, in which these quarries 
are dug, is composed of slate. At the base of it the 
miners commenced, and dug, in a semicircular form, 
into its very heart. They then blasted back and up a 
terrace all around the space they had made, some 
thirty or forty feet from the bottom. About the same 
distance above this terrace they ran another around, 
until they terraced the mountain, in the form of an 
amphitheatre, to the very top. Around each terrace 
runs a railroad, to carry out the slate ; while small 
stone huts are placed here and there, to shelter the 
workmen when a blast occurs near them. These ter- 
races are filled with workmen, who look, from below, 
like so many ants crawling over the rocks. Taking 
one of these as a guide, I rambled over the quarries, 
in a more excited state than one usually views so 
plain and practical an object; for the blasts, that 
occur every few moments, keep the mountain in an 
uproar. The amphitheatre is so far across, that a 



192 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

person need not fear a blast from tte opposite side ; 
but one from the terrace he is on, or from the one 
above or below him, is always more or less dangerous. 
To prevent accidents, just before a blast takes place, 
the man who is to fire, steps to the edge of the ter- 
race, and hallooes, ''he JiooV at which all in the 
neighborhood run for the stone cabins, like prairie 
dogs for their holes. Again and again was I com- 
pelled to dodge into one of these coverts ; when, after 
a moment's pause, there would follow a heavy explo- 
sion ; and the next moment the loose stones would be 
rattling like hail on the roof above me. Several 
times I measured, with considerable interest, the 
thickness of the covering above me, and calculated 
how heavy a rock it would require to crush through 
it. When out on the open terrace, the constant re- 
ports, like the rapid discharge of cannon in various 
parts of the mountain, keep one constantly on the 
look out. The depot of the finished slates is also a 
great curiosity. They are piled in huge rows, accord- 
ing to their size and value : they are named Dukes, 
Marquises, Counts, &c., to designate their respective 
worth. All sorts of ornaments are made by the 
workmen in their leisure moments, which are sold to 
travelers ; several of which I brought away with me. 
It was a bright day when I visited the quarries ; and, 
as I turned away, I paused, and looked back on that 
excavated mountain. It was a curious spectacle — 
those terraces, rising one above another, sprinkled all 
over with human beings, like mere spots on the spire 
of a church. 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 193 

From Bangor I went to Caernaryon, to visit the 
ruined castle there, so famous in the ancient history 
of England. I clambered up its spiral staircase — 
looked out of its narrow windows— plucked the ivy 
from its massive and immensely thick walls, and then 
went to a neighboring eminence to have the whole in 
one coup d'oeil. It is an impressive ruin, independent 
of the associations conneoted with it. It was my de- 
sign to cross to the island of Anglesea and take steam- 
boat for Dublin, where I expected to meet my friend, 
who left me at Liverpool ; but that afternoon a storm 
set in which frightened me back. I had had some 
experience in the British channels, and concluded I 
had rather not see Dublin than again be made as 
deadly sick as I had been. I went back to Bangor ; 
roamed over the island of Anglesea ; saw the stone 
block, once a sacrifice stone of the ancient Druids ; 
stood on the Menai bridge, next to that of Frybourg, 
the longest suspension bridge in the world ; and finally 
set sail for Liverpool. Waiting here two weeks, till I 
could get a state-room to myself, I at last embarked 
on board the packet England, and dropped down the 
Channel. Rounding the southern coast of Ireland we 
stood out to sea, and soon the last vestige of land dis- 
appeared behind the waters ; and, homeward bound, 
we were on the wide Atlantic. 

There was an incident occurred on leaving port 
which interested me exceedingly. With the depart- 
ure of almost every vessel, some poor wretches, with- 
out the means to pay their passage, secrete themselves 
aboard till fairly out to sea, when they creep forth 

17 



194 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

from their Hding-places. The captain cannot put 
back for them, and he cannot see them starve on 
board his ship ; and so they get a free passage to this 
land, where every man can find work. So common 
has this become, that an officer is always hired to 
ransack the vessel while she is being towed out of the 
harbor. Several were found hid away in ours, whom 
I saw shoved over into the "tug,'' as the tow boat is 
called, without the last feeling of commiseration. 
They were such hard, depraved looking cases, that I 
thought it no loss to have them kept back from our 
shores. But at length the officer drew forth a Scotch 
lad about seventeen years of age, who seemed unlike 
his companions. Dirty and ragged enough he indeed 
was, but a certain honest expression in his face, which 
was covered with tears, interested me in him imme^ 
diately. I stopped the officer, and asked the boy his 
name "Robert S," he replied. "Where are you 
from?'' Greenock. I am a baker by trade, but my 
master has broke, and I have come to Liverpool 
to get work." "Why do you want to go to Ame- 
rica?" said I. "To get work," he replied, in his 
strong Scotch accent. He seemed to have but one 
idea, and that was work ! The object of his ambi- 
tion, the end of his wishes, was the privilege of work- 
ing. He had wandered around Liverpool in vain; 
slept on the docks, and lived on the refuse crumbs he 
could pick up ; and as a last resort determined, all 
alone, to cross the Atlantic to a land where man is 
allowed the boon of working for his daily bread. I 
could not let him go ashore, and told the captain that 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 195 

I would see that liis passage was paid. The pas- 
sengers joined with me, and I told him he need not 
be alarmed, he should go to America. I was struck 
with his reply: said he, in a manly tone, ^'I don't 
know how I can pay you, sir, but I will work for you." 
I gave him clothes, and told him to wash himself up 
and be cheerful, and I would take care of him. In 
a short time he became deadly sick, and at the end 
of a week he was so emaciated and feeble I feared he 
would die. I said to him one day, " Eobert are you 
not very sorry now you started for America ?" " No, 
sir !" he replied, "ii I can get work there.'' "Mer- 
ciful God!" I mentally exclaimed, "has hunger so 
gnawed at this poor fellow's vitals, and starvation 
stared him so often in the face, that he can think of 
no joy like that of being permitted to work !" 

Days and weeks passed away, wearisome and 
lonely, until at length, as we approached the banks 
of Newfoundland, a heavy storm overtook us. It 
blew for two days, and the third night the sea was 
rolling tremendously. The good ship labored over 
the mountainous billows, while every timber, and 
plank, and door seemed suddenly to have been en- 
dowed with a voice, and screeched, and screamed, and 
groaned and complained, till the tumult without was 
almost drowned by the uproar within. It did not seem 
possible that the timbers could hold together for an 
hour so violently did the vessel work. I could not 
keep in my berth, and ropes were strung along the 
deck to enable the sailors to cross from one side to 
another. I crawled to the cabin door, and holding on 



196 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

'?fitli both hands, gazed out with strange feelings upon 
the wild and ruinous waste of waters. We had a host 
of steerage passengers aboard, whom the captain was 
compelled to drive below, and fasten down the hatches 
oyer them. The sea was breaking madly over the 
shrinking, shivering ship, as if determined to crush 
it down ; and at every shock of the billows, as they 
fell in thunder on the deck, the poor wretches below 
thought themselves going to the bottom, and kept 
up a constant wailing, screaming, and praying, at 
once pitiful and ludicrous. Still, I could not blame 
them ; for to one unaccustomed to the sea, the rush 
and roll of waves on the trembling planks overhead 
are any thing but pleasant sounds. One moment, as 
we ascended a billow, the jib-boom of our vessel seemed 
to pierce mid-heaven — the next moment, in her mad 
and downward plunge it would disappear in the sea, 
and tons of water come sweeping with a crash over 
our decks. Once the second mate, who was forward, 
was caught by one of these furious seas and borne 
backward the whole length of the deck, against the 
after cabin. As the ship pitched again he was car- 
ried forward, and the second time borne backward, 
before he could feel the deck, although the water was 
running in a perfect torrent from the scuppers the 
while. Oh ! it was a fearful night — the clouds swept 
in angry masses athwart the heavens, and all around 
was the mountainous deep, over which our groaning 
vessel strained with desperate efforts and most piteous 
complaints. I turned in, sick of the sea ; but I could 
not sleep ; for one moment my feet would be pointing 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 197 

to the zenith, and the next moment my head, and im- 
mediately after, head, body, and legs, would be lying 
in a confused heap on the state-room floor. As a last 
resort, I stretched myself on the cabin sofa, which 
was bolted to the floor, and bade the steward lash me 
to it with a rope ; and strange to say, in this position 
I dropped asleep and slept till morning. It was the 
soundest night's rest I ever had at sea. But it is 
startling to be waked out of sleep by the creaking of 
timbers and roar of waves ; and the spirits feel a 
sudden reaction that is painful. I staggered on deck, 
and such a sight I never beheld before. The storm 
had broken, and the fragmentary clouds were flying 
like lightning over the sky, while the sea, as far as 
the eye could reach, was one vast expanse of heaving, 
tumbling mountains — their bases a bright pea-green, 
and their ridges white as snow. Over and around 
these our good ship floundered like a mere toy. On 
our right, and perhaps three quarters of a mile dis- 
tant (though it seemed scarcely three rods), lay a 
ship riding out the storm. When we went down and 
she went up, I could see the copper on her bottom ; 
and when we both went down together, the tops of her 
tallest mast disappeared as though she had been sud- 
denly engulfed in the ocean. The sun at length 
emerged from a cloud and lighted up with strange 
brilliancy this strange scene. It was a sublime spec- 
tacle, and I acknowledged it to be so ; but added men- 
tally, as I clung to a belaying pin and braced against 
the bulwarks to keep my legs, that I thought it would 
appear much better from shore. 

17* 



198 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

Days and nights passed away, until at length, a 
bird came and lighted on our rigging, and then I 
knew we were near my fatherland. I could have 
kissed it. The last night came on with rain and 
storm, and we flew on before the gale with our white 
wings spread, thankful that it bore us homeward. 
At noon next day, the clouds broke away, and soon 
after we took on board a pilot. The sun went down 
in beauty and the moon sailed up the golden sky, 
and the stars came out and smiled on the sea, and 
all was lovely and entrancing ; but soon other lights 
flashed over the waters, that far outshone both moon 
and stars — the lights from Sandy Hook. My heart 
leaped up in my throat at the sight, and an involun- 
tary burst of joy escaped my lips. No bay ever 
looked so sweet as New York bay the next morning ; 
and when my feet pressed my native land, I loved her 
better than ever. 

^if ^{f ^*f ^If ^if Stf 

I will only add, that my proteg^, the Scotch boy, 
was taken care of, and proved worthy of the interest 
I had taken in him. He is now on the fair road to 
wealth and prosperity. 

The good packet England, a few months after, left 
Liverpool for New York, and was never heard of 
more. A better officer than her captain never trod 
a deck, and her first mate was also a fine man. He 
had been lately married, and went to sea because it 
w^as his only means of livelihood. Alas ! the billows 
now roll over them and their gallant ship together. 



WATERLOO. 199 



CHAPTER XVI. 

WATERLOO. 

This famous battle-field lies about ten miles from 
Brussels. It was a cloudy, gloomy day, that I left 
the city to visit this spot on which the fate of Europe 
was once decided. I stopped a moment to look at 
the house where the ball was held the night before 
the battle, and from the thoughtless gayety of which 
so many officers were summoned by the thunders of 
cannon to the field of battle. Before reaching the 
field, we passed through the beautiful forest of Soig- 
nies, composed of tall beeches, and which Byron, by 
poetical license, has changed into the forest of Ar- 
dennes. Ardennes is more than thirty miles distant 
in an opposite direction, but still it was more classic 
than Soignies, and so Byron, in describing the passage 
of the British army through it on their way to battle, 
says : — 

" And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, 
Wet with nature's tear-drops, as they pass — 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
Over the unreturning brave — alas ! 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass. 
Which, now beneath them, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valor, rolling on the foe. 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low." 



200 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

At length we came to the small village of Waterloo, 
and, taking a guide, wandered over the field. Not 
to weary one with confused details, conceive a large 
undulating plain with two ridges rising out of it lying 
opposite to each other, and gently curving in from 
the centre. These opposing ridges are mere eleva- 
tions of ground separated by a shallow valley, vary- 
ing from a quarter to a half mile in width. Standing 
on one of those curved ridges, along which the Eng- 
lish army was posted in two lines, the other ridge 
or elevation of ground faces you, along which the 
French were drawn up. The main road from Brus- 
sels to Genappe, cuts directly across this valley, and 
through these ridges, in the centre of the field. On 
the extreme right is the chateau of Hougoumont, a 
farm-house, with an orchard surrounded by a high 
wall in the shape of a parallelogram. This defended 
Wellington's right. The centre rested its left on a 
small house called La Haye Sainte, while the left 
wing extended farther on to another farm-house, 
called Ter la Haye. Thus fortified at both extremi- 
ties, and in the centre, the allied forces awaited the 
approach of the French on the opposite ridge. Fifty- 
four thousand men were drawn up for the slaughter 
on one side, a mile and a half in length, while Bona- 
parte brings to the battle seventy-five thousand 
Frenchmen. Back of the French lines is a house 
called La Belle Alliance, near which Bonaparte placed 
his observatory. 

This was the position of the field, and such the 
strength of the mighty armies that stood thirty years 



WATERLOO. 201 

agOj on the morning of the 15tli of June, locking 
each other in the faces. Two unconquered generals 
were at their head, and the fate of Europe the stake 
before them. As I stood on the mound reared over 
the slain, and looked over this field along which the 
grain waved as it waved on the day of that fierce bat- 
tle, a world of conflicting emotions struggled in my 
heart. One moment the magnificence and pomp of 
this stern array converted it into a field of glory — the 
next, the conception of the feelings that agitated the 
bosoms of these two military leaders, and the terrible 
results depending — all Eui'ope hanging in breathless 
suspense on the battle, imparted to it a moral sublimity 
utterly overwhelming ; the next the fierce onset, the 
charging squadron, the melee of horses and riders ; 
the falhng of mangled companies before the destructive 
fire ; the roar of artillery, and the blast of the bugle, 
and braying of trumpets, and roll of drums, and the 
tossing of plumes and banners, and wheeling of regi- 
ments, and shock of cavalry, changed it into a scene 
of excitement, and daring, and horror, that made the 
blood fiow back chill and dark on the heart. Then 
came the piles of the dead and the groans of the 
wounded, whole ranks of orphans, and whole villages 
of mourners; till a half-uttered "woe to the warrior," 
was choked by tears of compassion. 

Thirty years ago Wellington stood where I stood, 
and surveyed the field over which the two mighty 
armies were manoeuvering. At length, at this very 
hour (eleven o'clock,) when I am gazing upon it, the 
cannonading begins, and soon rolls the whole length 



202 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

of the line. In a moment it is all in imagination be- 
fore me. Yonder on the extreme right Jerome Bona- 
parte with 12,000 men descends like a mountain 
stream on the chateau of Hougoumont. Column 
after column, the dark masses march straight into the 
deadly fire that opens in every direction. In perfect 
order and steady front they press up to the very 
walls, and thrust their bayonets through the door 
itself. At length the house takes fire, and the shrieks 
of the wounded who are burning up, rise a moment 
over the roar of the strife, and then naught is heard 
but the confused noise of battle. Slowly, reluctantly, 
those 12,000 surge back from the wall— 12,000, did 
I say? No, in this rapid half hour 1,500 have fallen 
to rise no more, and there in that orchard of four 
acres, their bodies are scattered, nay, rather piledy 
besmeared with powder and blood. Between me and 
them fresh columns of French infantry, headed by a 
long row of cannon that belch forth their fires every 
few moments, come steadily up to the English 
squares. Whole ranks of living men fall at every 
discharge, but those firm squares neither shake nor 
falter. The earth trembles as cannon answers can- 
non, burying their loads in solid masses of human 
flesh. In the midst of this awful melee, the brave 
Picton charges home on the French, and they roll 
back like a wave from the rock — but a bullet has en- 
tered his temple, and he sallies back and falls at the 
head of his followers. And yonder, to save their fly- 
ing infantry, a column of French cavalry throw them- 
selves with the ocean's mighty swing on the foe, but 



WATERLOO. 203 

these rock-fast squares stand rooted to the ground. 
Slowly and desperately that daring column walk their 
horses round and round the squares, dashing in at 
every opening, but in vain. And now from wing to 
wing it is one wild battle, and I see nothing but the 
smoke of cannon, the tossing of plumes, and the soar- 
ing of the French eagle over the charging columns ; 
and I hear naught but the roll of the drum, the 
sound of martial music, the explosion of artillery, and 
the blast of the bugle sounding the charge. There 
stands Wellington, weary and anxious. Wherever a 
square has wavered, he has thrown himself into it, 
cheering on his men. But now he stands and sur- 
veys the field of blood, and sees his posts driven in, 
his army exhausted, and exclaims, while he wipes the 
sweat from his brow, "Would to Grod that Blucher 
or night would come." The noble Gordon steps up 
to him, begging him not to stand where he is so ex- 
posed to the shots of the enemy, and while he is 
speaking, a bullet pierces his own body and he falls. 
Bonaparte surveys the field of slaughter with savage 
ferocity, and pours fresh columns on the English 
lines, while the cavalry charge with desperate valor 
on the English infantry. For four long hours has 
the battle raged and victory wavered. But look ! a 
dark object emerges from yonder distant wood, and 
stretches out into the field. And now there are ban- 
ners, and horsemen, and moving columns. The 
Prussians are coming. Bonaparte sees them, and 
knowing that nothing can save him but the destruc- 
tion of the English lines before they arrive, orders 



204 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

up his old Imperial Guard, that had been kept aloof 
from battle all the day. He addresses them in a few 
fiery words, telling them that all rests on their valor. 
They shout ^'the Emperor for ever," till the sound 
is heard even to the British lines. With the impetu- 
ous Ney at their head, they move in perfect order 
and beautiful array down the slope. The storm of 
battle is hushed. No drum, or trumpet, or martial 
strain, cheers them on. No bugle sounds the charge. 
In dead silence and with firm and steady step they 
come. The allied forces look with indescribable awe 
and dread on the approach of those battalions that 
had never yet been conquered. But the momentary 
pause is like the hush of the storm ere it gathers for 
a fiercer sweep. The cannon open at once, and whole 
ranks of that gallant band fall hke a snow wreath 
from the mountain, yet they falter not ; — over the 
mangled forms they pass, and with steady, resistless 
force, come up face to face with their foe. The lines 
reel, and totter, and sway backward. The field seems 
lost — but no, that awful discharge on their bosoms 
from that rank of men that seemed to rise from the 
ground has turned the day — the invincible guard stop 
as if stunned by some terrible blow. A second dis- 
charge, and they wheel and fly. The whole Enghsh 
line now advance to the assault. Look at that man- 
gled column, how that discharge of artillery has torn 
its head and carried away half its number. 

'Tis over ; that magnificent army that formed in 
such beautiful order in the morning on the heights, 
is now rent, and the fugitives darken the field. 'Tis 



WATERLOO. 205 

night ; but the Prussians, fresh on the field, pursue 
the flying the long night. Oh, what scenes of horror 
and dread are witnessed, where the thunder of distant 
cannon comes booming on the midnight air ! Death 
is dragging his car over the multitude, and the very 
heavens look aghast at the merciless slaughter. 

'Tis night ; the roar of the far off cannon is heard 
at intervals, but here it is all quiet. The battle is 
hushed, and the conflicting legions have parted to 
meet no more. The full, round moon is sailing 
quietly up the blue heavens, serene and peaceful as 
ever. The stars shine on as if they looked on no 
scene of woe. A weary form is slowly passing over 
the field. It is Wellington, weeping as he goes ; for 
his horse's hoofs strike at every step in puddles of 
human blood, and the moonbeams fall on more than 
tAventy thousand corpses strewed over the trampled 
ground. The groans of the dying and the shrieks of 
the suffering mingle together, while the sudden death- 
cry rings over all. And the unconscious moon is 
smiling on, painting the far off landscape in beauty. 
God in heaven ! is this thy earth, and are those man- 
gled mountains of flesh thy creatures? How little 
nature seems to sympathize with the scenes that 
transpire in her presence ! It is true, the grain lies 
trampled, and crushed, and red on the plain; but* 
the wind passes as gently over it, stirring the tree- 
tops as it goes, as if no groans were mingled with its 
breath. The full-orbed moon rides up her gorgeous 
pathway of stars, smiling down as sweetly on these 
crushed and shrieking masses, as if naught but the 

18 



206 KAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

shepherd boy reclined on the field, and gazed on her 
beauty. Nay, God himself seems not to notice this 
fierce attack on the happiness of his creatures, but 
lets nature, like a slumbering child, breathe peacefully 
on. And yet this is an awful night, and there is an 
aggregate of woe and agony here no mind can mea- 
sure. And he, the author of it all, the haughty 
homicide who has strode like a demon over Europe, 
and left his infatuated armies on three continents, 
where is he ? A fugitive for his life ; while the roar 
of the distant cannon coming faintly on his ear, tells 
him of the field and the power he has left behind. 
His race is run, that baleful star has gone down, and 
the nations can ^'breathe free again." 

Such were my thoughts as I stood on this greatest 
of human battle-fields. It is evident to an impartial 
observer, that if Grouchy had obeyed Bonaparte, as 
Blucher did Wellington; or had Blucher stayed 
away as did Grouchy, Bonaparte would have won 
the field, and no one could have told where that 
scourge of man would have stopped. But God had 
said, '^thus far and no farther," and his chariot 
went down just as it was nearing the goal. The 
Christian cannot muse over such a field of blood 
without the deepest execration of Bonaparte's cha- 
racter. The warrior may recount the deeds wrought 
in that mighty conflict, but the Christian's eye looks 
farther — to the broken hearts it has made, and to 
the fearful retributions of the judgment. We will 
not speak of the physical sufi*ering crowded into this 
one day, for we cannot appreciate it. The sufi'erings 



WATERLOO. 207 

of one single man, with liis shattered bones piercing 
him as he struggles in his pain ; his suffocation, and 
thirst, and bitter prayers drowned amid the roar of 
battle ; his mental agony as he thinks of his wife and 
children ; his last death-shriek, are utterly inconceiv- 
able. Multiply the sum of this man's suffering by 
twenty thousand, and the aggregate who could tell ? 
Then charge all this over to one mans amhition^ and 
who shall measure his guilt, or say how dark and 
terrible his doom should be ? Bonaparte was a man 
of great intellect, but he stands charged with crimes 
that blacken and torture the soul for ever, and his 
accusers and their witnesses will rise from almost 
every field in Europe, and come in crowds from the 
banks of the Nile. He met and conquered many 
armies, but never stood face to face with such a ter- 
rible array as when he shall be summoned from his 
grave to meet this host of witnesses. The murderous 
artillery, the terrific charge, and the headlong cour- 
age will then avail him nothing. Truth, and Justice, 
and mercy, are the only helpers there, and they can- 
not help Mm. He trod them down in his pride and 
fury, and they shall tread him down for ever. He 
assaulted the peace and happiness of the earth, and 
the day of reckoning is sure. He put his glory above 
all human good or ill, and drove his chariot over a 
pathway of human hearts, and the God of the human 
heart shall avenge them and abase him. I care not 
what good he did in founding institutions and over- 
turning rotten thrones ; good was not his object, but 
personal glory. Besides, this sacking and burning 



208 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

down cities to build greater, has always been a fa- 
vorite measure with conquerors, and the favorite 
apology with their eulogizers. It is false in fact, 
and false if true in the inference drawn from it. It 
is not true that improvement was his purpose, nor 
does it exculpate him if it was. God does not per- 
mit man to produce happiness this way without a 
special command. When he wishes a corrupt nation 
or people to be swept away, he sends his earthquake 
or pestilence, or if a man is to be his anointed instru- 
ment, he anoints him in the presence of the world. 
He may, and does, allow one wicked thing to scourge 
another, but the scourger is a criminal while he fulfils 
the design, for he acts not for the Deity, but for him- 
self. The grand outline of Bonaparte's mental cha- 
racter — the greatest achievement he performed — the 
mighty power he wielded, and the awe with w^hich he 
inspired the world, have blinded men to his true cha- 
racter, and he remains half apotheosized to this day ; 
while the sadness of his fate — being sent to eat out 
his heart on a solitary rock in mid ocean — has created 
a morbid sympathy for him, any thing but manly or 
just. The very manner *of his death, we think, has 
contributed to this wrong feeling. Dying amidst an 
awful storm, while trees were falling, and the sea 
flinging itself as if in convulsions far up on the island, 
have imparted something of the supernatural to him. 
And then his fierceness to the last ; for though the 
night was wild and terrible, a wdlder night was over 
his heart ; and his spirit, in its last fitful struggle, was 
w^atching the current of a heavy fight, and his last 



WATERLOO. 209 

dying Tvords were tete cTarmee^ " head of the army." 
He has gone, and his mighty armies with him ; but the 
day shall come when the world shall read his history 
as they read that of Caesar Borgia, and to point to his 
tomb with a shudder. 

It is strange that such men as Bonaparte should 
always regard themselves as fated to perform what they 
do, as if themselves stupified with their own success, 
and conscious — acting voluntarily though they were — 
that the results were greater than human calculations 
could make them. Napoleon often spoke of himself as 
under a fate that protected him from death while he 
prosecuted his mad ambition. He may have been right, 
for Pharaoh was impelled by his own wicked heart to 
accomphsh a great and glorious plan. How sweet it is 
to know there is one right Being in the universe, who 
can and will eventually adjust all things well ! 

Before lea\dng the field, I was struck with one fact 
my guide told me, illustrating the brutality of the 
soldier. He was a native of Waterloo, and the morn- 
ing after the battle, stole forth to the field to pillage 
the slain. But the soldiers had been before him, and, 
weary and exhausted as they were with the hard day's 
fight, had spent the night in robbing the dead and the 
wounded ; so that he, on his own confession, could 
find, among the thousands heaped together, nothing 
worth carrying away but an old silver watch. This 
single fact is volumes on the brutalizing tendency of war. 

The field of Waterloo has undergone some change, 
from the erection of a large tumulus over the slain in 
the centre of it, surmounted by a bronze lion. The 

18* 



210 RAMBLES ANB SKETCHES. 

dirt excavated to make it has deepened tlie valley, 
while several monuments are scattered here and there 
to commemorate some gallant deed. 

In the little church of Waterloo repose many of the 
officers who fell in battle, and the walls are lined with 
tablets, bearing some of them touching inscriptions. 
One of them was peculiarly so. It was written above 
a young man, the son of a noble family, who was one 
of Wellington's suite, and had been with him in the 
peninsular campaign. He was but eighteen years old, 
and Waterloo was his tiventieth battle. Scarcely out' 
of boyhood, he had passed through the storm of nine- 
teen battles and perished in the twentieth. It is ter- 
rific to reflect on the moral efiect of so many scenes 
of blood upon a youthful heart. Such training will 
ruin any man, even though he were an angel. Ah, 
the evils of war are felt not less on the living than the 
dead ; not less on the mourner than the victor. The 
path of victory and defeat are both equally wasting. 
The blood of the slain has manured this field well, and 
the grain was waving richly over it, stirred by a gentle 
wind. I turned away a wiser, if not a better man, 
and filled with deep abhorrence of war and war's am- 
bition. And yet how many pilgrims come to this 
battle-field, and how high Bonaparte stands in the 
world's estimation ; while who seeks Howard's grave, 
or mourns over his death of a martyr ? But this 
is the world's way, and always has been — neglect 
its benefactors and deify its destroyers — crucify its 
Saviour and build temples above its Caesars. 



ADAPTATION OF INTELLECTUAL EFFORTS. 211 



CHAPTER XVII. 

» 

ON THE ADAPTATION OF ONE'S INTELLECTUAL EF- 
FORTS TO THE CHARACTER OF HIS OWN MIND AND 
THE CIRCUMSTANCES IN WHICH HE IS PLACED. 

The necessity of adapting all one's intellectual 
efforts to tlie character of his mind, furnishes a wide 
range of varied and interesting thought, finding illus- 
trations in the mathematician and poet, the novelist 
and chemist, the historian and the humorist. To 
trace out the workings of different minds in their 
peculiar departments would be a delightful and in- 
structive task. '' Know thyself," was written on the 
temple of Apollo, and though a heathen injunction, 
outweighs volumes of wholesome counsel. Perhaps 
there is no motive operating so powerfully on the 
mind of the young student as the unexpressed desire 
to excel as a speaker, a man of letters or of genius. 
Probably there is no vision which floats so dazzlingly 
before the spirit of the ambitious scholar, as the sight 
of himself, holding an audience spell-bound by the 
force of his eloquence or the displays of his genius in 
some department of learning or of art. If the secrets 
of the studio were revealed, the dreams of the am- 
bitious sleeper uttered aloud, and the irrepressible 
longings of his spirit breathed in the ear, they would 



212 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

all speak of this one bright vision. True, this dream, 
except in a few cases, is never fully realized. It 
results from the consciousness of power which the 
soul feels as it first steps across the threshold into 
the great intellectual universe, and expands to the 
deepening, growing prospect above and around it. 
But a man may sit for ever and gaze upon the hill- 
top of his desires ; invested though it be with real 
splendor, without industry on his part, he might as 
well gaze on the moon. To have his industry well 
applied ; to excel at all in our primary exertions, or 
after efforts, we must let the mind work to its natural 
tendencies. 

Neither the mind nor its tendencies are created 
by education ; they are simply developed, corrected, 
and strengthened. Every mind has its peculiarities, 
its own way of viewing a question, and its mode of 
presenting it. In some one thing it is better than 
in all others. There are the feebler and the stronger 
powers, and to know where ones intellectual strength 
lies is the first lesson to be learned, but it is one that 
many never learn. Our taste is not the judge on 
this point ; for taste is only a cultivated quality, re- 
ceiving its character from the influences under which 
it has been educated. Mistaking taste for genius is 
the rock on which thousands have split. It has hur- 
ried many a young and struggling author into scenes 
of bitter disappointment and an early grave. A taste 
for poetry it not the divine '^afflatus," nor a love for 
eloquence its heaven-imparted power. Mistaking 
taste for genius effectually prevents a man from un- 



ADAPTATION OP INTELLECTUAL EFFORTS. 213 

derstanding its true intellectual strength. One, per- 
haps, has been educated to consider the true power 
of a speaker to consist in logical argument, and calm, 
deliberate discussion ; while his own mind is highly 
imaginative, and its power consists in the force and 
beauty of its illustrations ; the new forms under which 
it presents truth; its resistless appeals, and impas- 
sioned bursts of feeling. To comply with the rigid 
taste under which it has been educated, the mind 
would leave untouched its greatest powers, and labor 
to lead out those most weakly developed, and which 
never can become more than ordinary. On the other 
hand, a cool mathematician, whose imagination never 
flew beyond a diagram, may possess a wonderful pen- 
chant for the pathetic and highly figurative. He 
may struggle for ever, but his efforts will be like 
measuring poetry by the yard, or gauging beauty 
with rule and compass. How many illustrations of 
this truth have been presented to each of us in our 
lifetime. My memory refers this moment to two. 
One, whose mind was of a bold and ardent character, 
wished to be reputed a cool and laborious metaphy- 
sician. To secure this reputation, he labored through 
life against Nature herself. Sometimes, when sud- 
denly excited, he would break away from the fetters 
in which he had enthralled himself, and burst with 
startling power upon his auditors. But he controlled 
these ebulUtions of feeling, as he termed them, and, 
with the power of excelling as an orator, he died as 
a common metaphysician. The other probably never 
could have been a great man ; yet all the excellence 



214 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

he possessed consisted in the plain, practical, com- 
mon sense view he took of a subject adapted to in- 
struct or benefit his hearers. But he had a wonder- 
ful taste for the pathetic. He fondly believed he 
was fitted to stir an audience with lofty feeling, and 
bear them away on the resistless tide of strong emo- 
tion. Mistaking the structure of his mind, he conse- 
quently always failed, but consoled himself with the 
reflection that no human power could arouse and 
agitate such marble hearts. He never tore a passion 
to tatters, like a declamatory schoolboy; but he 
gently rocked it to rest, then made a serious carica- 
ture of it. He would turn even a tragedy into a 
comedy. "Know thyself," is a difficult but neces- 
sary lesson. Many a man considers himself a sound 
critic of a speaker's or writer's power, while he brings 
every one to the same test — his oivn taste. But 
minds are as various in their construction as natural 
scenery in its aspects. There is the bold outline of 
the mountain range, with its rocks and caverns and 
gloomy gorges; and there is the great plain, with its 
groves and streamlets. There are the rough torrent 
and headlong cataract, and there is the gentle river, 
winding in perfect wantonness through the vale, as 
if it loved and strove to linger amid its beauties; 
there is the terrific swoop of the eagle, and the arrow- 
like dart of the swallow ; there are the thunder-cloud 
and rainbow, the roar of the ocean and the gentle 
murmur of the south wind; all, all unlike, yet all 
attractive, and all possessing their admirers. The 
same Divine hand that created and spread out this 



ADAPTATION OF INTELLECTUAL EFFORTS. 215 

diversified scenery, has formed mind with aspects as 
various, and it appears most attractive in that which 
the Creator has given it. 

I recollect of seeing, some years ago, a contrast 
drawn by a western man, between Dr. Beecher and 
Bishop Mcllvaine. I do not recollect the author's 
name, nor can I now recall much of the comparison ; 
but, among other things, he remarked, that the 
structure and movement of their minds were as differ- 
ent as the structure and movement of their bodies — 
one abrupt, vehement, and rapid; the other calm, 
easy, and graceful. 

The thoughts of one are like a chest of gold rings ; 
of the other, like the hnks of an iron chain. One 
makes the sky above you all suns'hine and beauty ; 
the other makes one half of it too bright for mortal 
eye to gaze upon, the other half with thunder-cloud 
piled on thunder-cloud, and above all the wheels of 
Providence rolling. These men are both eloquent; 
yet how difi'erent the orbits in which their minds re- 
volve. One never could be the other. One is the 
torrent among the hills ; the other the stream along 
the meadows. One startles ; the other delights. One 
agitates ; the other soothes. One ever asks for the 
war bugle, and pours through it a rallying cry that 
would almost wake the dead ; the other cries, '• bring 
out the silver trumpet," and breathes his soul into it 
till the melody dies away in the human heart like 
sunset in the heavens. Some one drawing a con- 
trast between Lord Brougham and Canning, remarks 
that the mind of one (Lord Brougham) is hke a con- 



216 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

cave mirror, converging all the rays of light that fall 
upon it into one tremendous and burning focus ; the 
mind of the other, like a convex mirror, scattering 
the rays as they strike it, till it shines and glitters 
from every point you view it. So Longinus, speak- 
ing of Demosthenes and Cicero, says, one is like the 
mountain torrent, bearing away every thing by the 
violence of its current; the other a consuming fire, 
wandering hither and thither over the fields, ever 
burning, and ever finding something to consume. 
Every great speaker and writer in our own land has 
his peculiar style, that no other one can appropriate 
to himself. How do all these varieties occur ? From 
obeying the great — I might say greatest — maxim, 
"Look into thine* own heart, then write.'' Walter 
Scott would doubtless have died an ordinary man if 
he had continued the -law, to which external circum- 
stances seemed resolved to chain him. No one sup- 
poses that every man has powers so strikingly 
developed as those I have noticed. The upward ten- 
dencies of some minds are so powerful, that no edu- 
cation can subdue or change them, and, Titan-hke, 
they will arise, though mountains are piled on them. 
But in more ordinary ones, the better qualities are 
not so prominent ; they must be sought out and culti- 
vated. These varieties as really exist in the most 
common intellects as in great ones. A backwoods- 
man very soon knows whether he is better on the 
dead lift or vigorous leap, but how few who write or 
speak know in what direction their minds work with 
greatest power ; and yet, till they do, they never can 



ADAPTATION OF INTELLECTUAL EFFORTS. 217 

receive their best cultivation. A man destitute of 
imagination might as well attempt to fly with leaden 
wings, as strive to excel in highly descriptive and 
ornamental, or figurative writing. While, on the 
contrary, let one with a youthful, ardent, and highly 
imaginative mind, assume the deliberate judge and 
deep philosopher, and aim to make every word weigh 
a pound, and he will appear at best like a child with 
his grandfather's spectacles on. And yet the world 
is full of these unnatural efforts, till the mind often 
loses all its elasticity and playfulness on the one 
hand, and all its force and power on the other. In- 
deed, sober-minded men often compliment themselves 
on the soundness of their judgments in condemning 
writers and speakers, when they ought to be reproved 
for the narrowness of their views. That man who, 
on listening to a beautiful poem, satirically inquired 
at the close what it all proved, doubtless considered 
himself blessed with a vastly deep and philosophical 
mind. What did it prove ? It proved there was 
harmony in the universe besides the jingle of dollars 
and cents — that there was beauty in the world be- 
sides lines and angles, railroads and canals. Many 
seem to think there is nothing proved, except by a 
long train of consecutive reason. As if the stars 
and the blue sky, the caroling of birds, and the 
music of running waters, proved nothing ! They 
prove much to one who has an eye and ear to perceive 
and understand them. Said a great scholar and dis- 
tinguished man once to me, ''Mrs. Hemans never 
wrote a single line of poetry in her life.'' Vastly 

19 ' 



218 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

profound! Methinks such 'a man could discourse 
systematically on the compact, scientifically-built 
wall of a garden all day, and never behold a single 
flower it inclosed. For such minds beauty and har- 
mony are created in vain. It is this rigidity of taste 
that often paralyzes the powers of the finest-wrought 
minds. The variety which God has created is disre- 
garded, and every one is brought to the same iron- 
like standard. The mind is doubtless, in a thousand 
instances, injured before it is old enough to compare 
for itself. How many parents regard institutions of 
learning as so many intellectual mills, into which 
every variety of mind is to be tossed, and come out 
well-bolted intellectual flour ! How little do they 
study the difi*erent characters of those under their 
control ! and while they fondly believe they are 
granting them equal opportunities by the course they 
pursue, they are using means adapted to develop the 
best powers of one, and the weakest of the other. 
Let not the reader suppose that the intellect is self- 
educated ; that Nature is an unerring guide, and he 
must folbw as far as she leads. She directs to which 
species the variety belongs, gently admonishing man 
to cultivate it according to the character of the plant. 
Nor do I suppose she has inclosed a path for any 
particular mind to tread in without deviation to the 
right hand or to the left, but that there is one in which 
it can move with greater facility and pleasure. There 
is one aspect of it more attractive than all the rest. 
I may be considered as having given an undue im- 
portance to this subject, but I am confident that no 



ADAPTATION OF INTELLECTUAL EFFORTS. 219 

one has advanced far Tvithout knowing what his best 
powers are. Cultivate an ordinary mind so that it 
may possess its greatest power, and it will be regarded 
as a giant in this world of misapplied effort. 

The latter part of this subject — the adaptation of 
one's self to circumstances — may seem at first sight 
to conflict with the former, namely, that one should 
consult the peculiar tendencies and powers of his own 
mind in his mental efforts. But it does not ; for 
although one may possess an excellence on which he 
must mainly rely, yet there may be some circum- 
stances calhng forth a lower order of powers that 
shall exhibit the mind to greater advantage from the 
very beauty of the adaptation itself. Besides, the 
desired result does not always depend on the weight 
of the given blow, but on the direction it takes, and 
the point of contact. So the mind cannot always 
produce the greatest results by the employment of its 
greatest powers. That depends very much upon the 
minds with which it comes in collision, and the tastes 
it has to encounter. When there is a broad and 
striking contrast on the occasion, this rul<e is always 
followed. No one would make the same address on 
a funeral occasion and jubilee day. But reflective 
men go farther, and adapt their efforts to the differ- 
ent intellectual capacities of assemblies and their 
various habits of feeling. The necessity of regarding 
this variety of taste and habits of thought is seen by 
one who has traveled in different sections of the 
world. The same speech would be very differently 
estimated in this State, in the far South, and in the 



220 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

Western States. One that would please the taste of 
most Southern assemblies would be considered too 
flowery and ornamental by an assembly here ; while 
an address that would be regarded here as very sound 
and logical, might rock many a Western audience to 
sleep. Some divines, able to control large parishes 
in New England, could not keep a Western congre- 
gation together. Uncultivated countries naturally 
draw into them men of a bold and ardent character. 
The startling appeal, the bold figure, and fearless 
action, correspond to their habits of thought and 
manner of living. I suppose many a sound Eastern 
lawyer would have been an unsuccessful rival against 
Col. Crockett, among the latter's constituents. I do 
not introduce this to show that one should assume the 
bad manners of others to move them. But to elevate 
those whose mental habits have been directly opposed 
to his own to what he considers .correct taste, is a 
long and difficult process, and never can be done un- 
less he throws himself somewhat into the current of 
their thoughts and feelings. Who would think, for 
instance, of moving a French audience, with all their 
ardor, by the same kind of eloquence that he would 
the Dutch, their neighbors ; or address an Italian as- 
sembly, with their poetic feeling and deep sentiment, 
in the same train that he would an English one? 
Similar, though not so striking contrasts, sometimes 
exist in towns that border on each other. Daniel 
O'Connell does not harangue in the same style in the 
British Parliament that he does before his Irish con- 
stituents. Place a man of great and varied powers 



ADAPTATION OF INTELLECTUAL EFFORTS. 221 

before a small audience of savans, perchance the 
faculty of a university, and if he wishes to convince 
them of some abstract proposition, he keeps his heart 
as emotionless as marble — imagination furls her wings 
in repose, and naked reason toils alone. He ad- 
vances from argument to argument with a watchful- 
ness that eludes suspicion, and omitting no proof that 
strengthens his cause, he presses right on to the point 
towards which he is laboring, till at length, with all 
the gravity of a mathematician, he exclaims, " quod 
erat demonstrandum." Place him the next hour, as a 
political aspirant, in the midst of a motley multitude, 
and he that was a moment before all moderation, sud- 
denly becomes all appeal and declamation. The most 
extravagant assertions, and exaggerated statements, 
bring down upon his head thunders of applause. Let 
him the next hour be transported before an enlight- 
ened audience, and he one moment enchains attention 
by a train of rapid reasoning — now startles with a 
sudden flight of the imagination, and again delights 
by the harmonious flow of his sentences. He receives 
the admiration of all by adapting himself at times to 
each. I do not suppose that minds usually possess 
such varied powers, but the fact is a forcible illustra- 
tion of the principle of adaptation, on which those 
act who seek to influence others, and which must con- 
trol more or less every one who would directly benefit 
any. Men study well the rules of the schools, but 
very defectively that strange and restless thing, the 
human heart. 

This principle operates so extensively that what 

19* 



222 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

would be considered violent declamation in some cir- 
cumstances would be the truest eloquence in others. 
Take, as an illustrationj the speech which Sir Walter 
Scott puts in the mouth of Ephraim McBriar, when 
addressing the Covenanters after a successful battle. 
It exhibits his wonderful knowledge of the human 
heart. The Covenanters had been driven from their 
homes and altars bj the merciless Claverhouse and 
his followers, till at length, hunted even among the 
hills and caverns, and driven to despair, they turned 
at bay, and falling on their pursuers, repulsed them 
with great slaughter, leaving the field covered with 
the slain. As the last shout of battle died away on 
the mountain air, with their brows yet unbent from 
the stern conflict, and their hands crimson with the 
blood of their foes, they gathered together on the 
field of death, and demanded a sermon from one of 
their preachers. Amid the silent dead, encompassed 
by the everlasting hills, beneath the open sky, those 
stern and fiery-hearted men stood and listened. A 
young man, scarce twenty years of age, arose, pale 
from watching, fasts, and long imprisonment — the 
hectic flush on his cheek writing his early doom. 
But as he stood, and cast his faded eye over the mul- 
titude and over the scene of battle, his cheek burned 
with a 'sudden glow, and a smile of triumph played 
around his lips. His voice, at first faint and low, was 
scarce heard by the immense multitude, but gathering 
strength and volume from his increasing emotion, its 
clear and startling tones fell at length like a trumpet- 
call on the ears of the throng. He wished to nerve 



ADAPTATION OF, INTELLECTUAL EFFORTS. 223 

them to sterner conflictSj and urge them on to new 
victories, and what should be the character of his 
address ? Should he attempt to convince those wronged 
and hunted men of the righteousness of their cause ? 
From history and law should he calmly prove the 
right of defending themselves against the oppressor ? 
No ; such argument would have been tame amid the 
stormy feelings that agitated their bosoms. He at 
first awoke indignation by describing their outraged 
altars and violated homes. He spoke of the Church, 
compared her to Hagar, watching the waning life of 
her infant in the desert — to Kachel, mourning for 
her children and refusing to be comforted ; then sud- 
denly taking fire at the wrongs in which he felt a 
common interest, he bursts forth: ''Your garments 
are stained, but not with the blood of beasts — your 
swords are filled with blood, but not of bullocks or 
goats ; neither are these wild hills around you a 
sanctuary planked with cedar and plated with silver ; 
nor are ye ministering priests at the altar, with cen- 
sers and torches; but these are the corpses of men 
who rode to battle — these hills are your altars, and 
your own good swords the instruments of sacrifice ; 
wherefore turn not back from the slaughter on which 
ye have entered, like the worthies of old; but let 
every man's hand be like the hand of the mighty 
Samson, and every man's sword like that of Gideon, 
which turned not back from the slaughter ; for the 
banners of the Reformation are spread abroad on the 
mountains in their first loveliness, and the gates of 
hell shall not prevail against it." In this wild and 



224 RAMBLES AND SIvETCHES. 

enthusiastic manner lie continued, till at his single 
bidding those iron-hearted men would have '^rushed 
to battle as to a banquet, and embraced death with 
rapture." I do not speak of the moral character of 
such an appeal, but of its adaptedness to produce the 
effect he desired, and to estabhsh the fact that even 
declamation may become eloquence, and argument be 
equivalent to nonsense. He wished the resistance 
unto blood which had commenced should not termi- 
nate through hesitating fears and calm reflection. He 
wished them to be upborne by the same lofty enthu- 
siasm that sustained him in the perils and death that 
surrounded him. To effect these objects he acted 
with consummate skill. Powerful minds study more 
carefully than we imagine the principle I have ad- 
vanced. There is no doubt that it should be the de- 
sign of all intellectual efforts to make men wiser and 
better. But truth may be clothed in garments va- 
rious as the different phases which the human mind 
assumes. Its illustrations are as diversified as the 
forms of nature, and on the appropriateness of them 
its power and success very much depend. I know 
there is an objection in the hearts of some good men 
against exciting emotion ; they prefer calm, delibe- 
rate reason. But the danger seems to me to consist 
in the means used to awaken it. The feelings are 
transient, but the effect they work while in being 
may not be. In agitating times men govern too 
much by enlisting the sympathies, while in calm and 
ordinary times they entirely neglect it. To hear 
some men speak, one would think the heart was quite 



ADAPTATION OE INTELLECTUAL EEEORTS. 225 

a redundant thing, or at least very subordinate ; and 
thought and reason alone regal. But the heart also 
knows how to play the despot, and it is more difficult 
to arouse it than to convince the reason. The great- 
est truths in the universe are as clear as daylight to 
the mass of enlightened men. But reason regards 
them with a cold and stony eye till the heart kindles 
upon them. It is easier to make the judgment as- 
sent than to awaken emotion. It requires a master 
hand to sweep successfully that strange and delicate 
instrument, the human heart. Any man can easily 
learn to adjust the strings of an instrument, and 
prove the design and propriety of every part, till 
reason is satisfied with its construction; but it is 
quite another thing to make it discourse sweet music, 
and breathe forth harmony, to which the spirit's 
harp gives out a continual response. As much as 
men deprecate sudden impulses, if governed by truth 
they often originate right action when nothing else 
would do it. In the first House of Delegates, doubt, 
fear, and irresolution characterized all its proceed- 
ings, till Patrick Henry arose, and by a short and 
stirring appeal, poured his determined and excited 
soul into every bosom. Then the cry of ^^ To arms ! 
to arms !" ran like wild-fire from lip to lip. When 
strong emotion sleeps, the baser passions often rule, 
and man's habitual selfishness becomes the dominant 
motive. One's first thoughts may not be the best, yet 
the first feelings on good subjects generally are. 

These principles apply with equal force to writers. 
In all those works which impart the -greatest plea- 



226 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

sure, we behold the heart of the author written out. 
They all follow the direction, " Look into thine own 
heart, then write." One excels in description, another 
in humor ; one in colloquy, another in discussion. Some 
minds work with greatest power when thrown into 
collision with other minds, as steel and flint when 
brought in contact emit fire. 

But rules are useless without enthusiasm — they 
form the structure and muscles, but the breath of life 
is needed. It is the great moving power bestowed on 
man — it is, indeed, his only inspiration. When, under 
its influence, thoughts which reflection never could 
have suggested, come rushing like angels upon him, 
and visions, gorgeous as the midnight heavens, and as 
real, throng about him, until the soul toils like a giant 
amid the terrible elements it has gathered around it. 
It constitutes the wings of the soul, by which it scales 
heights mere industry never could reach. It is the 
divine afflatus, and when kindled upon truth, will 
make the laggard blood roll like lava through the 
veins. 

An American once entered the church of Robert 
Hall, when that eloquent divine was fast sinking 
under the ravages of disease. As he arose and 
leaned feebly on the desk, and glanced over the 
multitude, his eye was dull and dead in its sunken 
socket, and around it that dark and sickly hue which 
denotes great physical exhaustion. His cheek was 
hollow, and his voice low, and scarcely audible. He 
proceeded in this manner for some time, when a sud- 
den flash passed over his countenance, lighting the 



ADAPTATION OE INTELLECTUAL EFFORTS. 227 

eye, and giving fullness to the cheek. It disappeared, 
and the eye lapsed again into its dullness, and the 
features into their wan expression. After a short 
interval, that sudden glow a second time kindled over 
his countenance, and remaining a little longer than 
before, again subsided away. But the intervals be- 
tween them gradually became shorter, and the dura- 
tion of the excitement longer, till at length the veins 
swelled to their utmost fullness and remained so — 
the eye lightened to its intense brilliancy and burned 
on, while thought after thought, such as seemed never 
to have fallen from mortal lips before, poured over 
the audience, and at the close they found themselves 
standing erect, gazing up into the face of the orator. 
Enthusiasm came to him in his weakness like a 
good angel, keying up for him the strings of his 
shattered harp, which he could not do for himself — 
not too suddenly and violently — but gradually, till 
in perfect tune. It bade the player sweep it ; he 
obeyed, and it discoursed sweetest harmony. Eeason 
never could have strung up that man's failing sinews 
so, nor brought those vivid conceptions to his soul, 
nor poured such a torrent of eloquence from his lips. 
Lord Brougham never exhibits his great qualities 
as an orator, till he has wrought himself into this 
overwhelming excitement. Not till his mind seems 
in a state of fusion are the red-hot bolts launched 
from it. 

It was this that made PauL appear like a minister 
of vengence when he reasoned with Felix of the 
judgment to come. As he proceeded in his dis- 



228 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

course, and the scenes of that terrible day passed 
before his vision — forgot were all — the noble auditory, 
his bonds, his coming fate. That palace seemed to 
shrink away before the descending God — its massive 
walls crumble before the archangel's trumpet — the 
throne was set— ;-the judge had ascended the seat — 
before him stood that terrible throng awaiting their 
doom — gone was the contemptuous sneer and care- 
less smile, and look of incredulity ; and when the 
fearful speaker closed, the haughty Felix trembled. 
Not even the sneer of TertuUus could prevent 
conviction. 

" No orator for God, or his country, or injured 
innocence, was ever eloquent without enthusiasm. 
No poet ever sung in strains that made him immortal, 
unless he felt the spirit of enthusiasm like the pres- 
sure of a sensible presence upon him. No artist ever 
made the canvas breathe with power without it. Nor, 
without it, would have come those great conceptions, 
that, wrought out, made the dumb marble eloquent. 
Some of the most gifted have been called crazed, till 
the groves they have made sweet with their song are 
silent for ever, and the world learns why they are 
silent, and calls to them in vain to return. Then the 
enthusiast is defied, and man enacts his former folly 
over again." Enthusiasm forces a man to forget his 
miserable, selfish schemes and act from his loftier 
impulses. " The enthusiasm of the patriot is the 
self-devotion of Winkelried, of Tell, of Curtius, of the 
first Brutus, of Washington. 



ADAPTATION OF INTELLECTUAL EFFORTS. 229 

'' The enthusiasm of the bar is the face of Moses 
from the top of Horeb. 

" The enthusiasm of the pulpit is the pillar of fire 
and of cloudj the symbol of joy to the Church, and 
of terror to its enemies." In all trades and profes- 
sions, in all occupations of whatever character, en- 
thusiasm is the impulsive power that carries one to 
eminence in it. The ideal perfect which it ever pre- 
sents to the view, acts as an increasing stimulus to 
urge him on to still greater excellence, till, at length 
he may die unsatisfied, but blessing the world. A 
man cannot have enthusiasm, without possessing with 
it a love for the perfect and the beautiful in that he 
seeks after. The conceptions it brings to the mind 
are all beyond the reality. It lifts the standard of 
perfection a little higher and higher, still urging him 
on, while, like the rainbow, it keeps receding as he 
advances. He never finds the spot where its light 
arch rests its foot. He can only gaze at the curve 
as it bows above the storm-cloud. It is to this hot 
pursuit after perfection we owe all that is grand and 
beautiful in language or art. The man who boasts of 
being no enthusiast, is never troubled with this long- 
ing after the faultless, and never seeks it, and hence 
never excels. He has the good sense to be very well 
satisfied with what he does. He pities the enthusi- 
astic, dissatisfied lover of perfection, as the steady 
old dray-horse commiserated the fiery Pegasus, when 
he would gall his breast with such fiery leaps against 
his harness. If that dray-horse could have spoken, 
he whold have said, " Keep cool, Pegasus, and take 

20 



230 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

a steady jog like me. You only get thumps for your 
pains. Besides, you wear your strength out at the 
start. You will not be a long liver, I fear, Pegasus." 
But the soul needs excitement to give it force. 
This enthusiasm may not be boisterous, indeed, never 
come to the surface at all, but, calm and deep, burn 
on like a hidden fire. It matters not, so that it only 
has an existence. Under its influence man breaks 
away from those petty fears which cramp thought and 
feeling, and exhibits that daring which of itself will 
create genius. He then writes with his own hearty 
not a critical audience before him. 



ITALIAN PAINTINGS. 231 



CHAPTER XVIIL 

ITALIAN PAINTINGS. 

It is amusing to see Americans and Englishmen 
buy paintings in Italy. People seem to have about 
the same idea of its pictures that they have of its 
sky. Those who have spent their lives in the United 
States, without even an exclamation as they looked 
up through our spiritually clear atmosphere to the 
bright heavens that overarch them, never tire of 
praising the blue skies of Italy. The sky must be 
blue, and the atmosphere pure, because it is Italy. 
So a painting must be good, because it is an old 
Italian one. Cheese and wine are better for being 
old, but a painting not^ unless it was good at the out- 
set. Brokers in paintings meet you at every turn, 
and there are more Salvator Rosas, and Claudes, and 
Titians, and Raphaels, and Correggios, and Domeni- 
chinos, and Murillos, etc., in these shops, (that is, if 
you will take the word of the broker for it,) than in 
all the galleries of Italy put together. A country- 
man shows you a painting, and asks your opinion; 
perhaps you say it is a so-so sort of a thing." 
"Why," he replies, "it is an old Italian paintmg!" 
"Exactly, and the older the worse." There are 
some tens of thousands of pictures in the United 



232 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

States, that, two hundred years hence, will be quite 
oldj and — quite poor. Still, we imagine some valua- 
ble pictures now and then turn up, but they are 
snatched up almost immediately by Englishmen, or 
the government of the province in which they are 
found. Some galleries are broken up and sold by 
the descendant of a noble house for the sake of the 
ready cash, and advertised for auction; but before 
the day of public sale arrives, every valuable paint- 
ing has been disposed of to private purchasers. We 
saw a gallery of a Roman duke thus advertised all 
over the south of Italy, and having reached Rome a 
short time before the day of public auction, went to 
it with a catalogue in our hand which we had marked 
to guide us in our examination of the pictures, and 
not one of those we had drawn our pencil around, 
remained unsold. I said that sometimes a valuable 
picture turned up. I have no doubt there are many 
covered with rubbish in different parts of Italy, that 
wiU yet see the light. The best statuary of Rome 
has thus been dug up from the earth, where it 
has lain buried for years. The whole country round 
Rome is the grave of art, and much more would be 
done to retrieve its lost forms of beauty, were it not 
for the niggardly spirit of the government. For 
twenty-four dollars one can purchase the right to 
dig over a certain space in the outskirts of Rome, 
and have all he finds. But if he should be so fortu- 
nate as to uncover a really valuable statue, the gov- 
ernment quietly takes it from him and puts it in one 
of the public galleries. A man is a fool who will 



ITALIAN PAINTINGS. 233 

Spend his time and money in digging up beautiful 
things for the Pope of Rome. 

A large painting is now hanging in the Pitti gal- 
lery, of Florence, said to be the work of Salvator 
Rosa, simply because it is just as easy to give a child 
of doubtful parentage a distinguished father as a 
disreputable one. It was found amid some old rub- 
bish and sold for ten dollars. After being brushed 
up and varnished, it was sold again for a hundred 
dollars. Having by this time attracted the notice 
of a connoisseur, he gave a thousand for it, and now 
at last it has found its way to the gallery of the 
duke, who gave, I have been told, ten thousand 
dollars for it. I will not vouch for the truth of this 
last statement, but I do not think ten thousand would 
buy it. But this is one prize in a lottery among a 
hundred thousand blanks. The best thing a trav- 
eler can do, who wishes to carry back with him a 
choice collection of paintings, is to purchase fine 
copies of the old masters. The rage of some men 
for old paintings, forces them to purchase old things 
so faded and obscure, that it needs a first-rate mag- 
nifying glass to bring out the figures. Having ob- 
tained a little smattering of the arts, and having a 
profound admiration for the " Ohiara Oscuro,'' they 
think the darker and more indistinct a- painting is, 
the greater the merit. The beauty of the figures is 
in proportion to the difficulty in making them out. 
They seem wholly ignorant that figures poorly col- 
ored always retire from the canvas with time, till they 

20* 



234 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

become "oscuro" enough, thougli it is not so easy to 
tell where the " chiaro" lies. 

The prices a traveler is made to pay for these old 
daubs must furnish a vast deal of amusement to the 
shrewd dealer. I once met an American in Italy 
with a perfect mania of this kind. Every room in 
his house was covered with paintings, of the age of 
which there cannot be the least doubt, which we 
would not absolutely pay the duty on in New York, 
if given us and shipped for nothing. Being once in 
his room when a regular sharper, that had been Jew- 
ing him for a month, came in with a picture, I took 
the liberty of telling him he was outrageously cheated. 
The painting the fellow had brought was arranged in 
the best possible light, and its virtues descanted on 
in the most beautiful Italian. At length, he wound 
up his long eulogy by saying, that he was willing to 
sacrifice this valuable painting, as he was in great 
need of ready money. He designed to keep it for 
his own use, but he had been unfortunate, and must 
^'per forsa" part with it, and would take the small 
sum of two hundred francs for it (about forty dol- 
lars). The gentleman asked me in English, what I 
thought of it. I told him that, if he really wished 
it, though it was hardly worth the buying, perhaps 
he would be safe in offering twenty francs, or about 
five dollars. He did so. Oh, you should have seen 
the astonished, indignant look of the Italian. He 
drew himself up haughtily, and remarked very em- 
phatically that he did not come there to be insulted, 
and, taking up his picture, walked off. We had 



ITALIAN PAINTINGS. 235 

hardly finished our laugh over his dignified take-off 
before the servant opened the door, and there stood 
the picture-dealer, bowing and scraping, all smiles 
and civility, saying that as he was very much pressed 
just then for money, he had concluded to take the 
sum signore had offered. But the signore, having got 
his eyes a little opened to the deception practised on 
him, very cooly replied that he had concluded not to 
take it even at that price. This sent the rascal away 
in a perfect fury, and he went off making the r's roll 
and rattle in his Italian, till every thing rung again, 
like a true Roman. You must know than when an 
Italian swears in anger, he rolls his r's three times as 
much as usual, and it is ''per-r-r-r sacr-r-r-r-mento," 
till the tongue seems as if it would fly to pieces in its 
rapid motion. This reminds us, by the way, of a 
very good story we have been told of a rich, yet 
ignorant. New York merchant, who, having suddenly 
acquired an immense fortune by speculation, deter- 
mined to make the continental tour. Visiting Powers' 
studio one day, and looking round on the different 
works of art, he asked, pointing to the Greek slave, 
^' What do you call that ere naked boy there ?" 

"It is a Greek slave," replied Mr. Powers. 

"And what might be the price of it?" continued 
our New York traveler. 

" Three thousand dollars is the price I have put 
upon it." 

"Is it possible? Why I had thought of buying 
something of the kind, but I had no idee they cost 
so much. Stateara is ris, hasn't it?" 



236 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

I have seen paintings sold in New York at auction, 
for Salvator Rosas, at seventy dollars a-piece, that I 
actually would not allow to be hung up in my parlor 
unless as mere substitutes for plain panels. Of the 
hundreds of old Italian paintings sold every year in 
New York, there are scarcely a dozen that are good 
for any thing. But if a man will buy these " chiaro 
oscuros" in Italy, let him learn to beat down the 
seller till he gets them for a mere bagatelle, their 
true value. 

The purchase of a miserable unbound copy of an 
Italian translation of Virgil, by my friend in Genoa, 
is a fair example to follow by those who would buy 
paintings. Taking up the Virgil from a stall in the 
streets, he asked the man what he wanted for it. 
" Twenty-two francs," said he promptly, and with the 
utmost gravity. My friend smiled, and asked him if 
he thought he could find any body so big a fool as to 
give that price for it. '' Certe," was the reply. 
My friend lay down the book, and was about walk- 
ing away, when the man quietly asked him what he 
was willing to give for it? "Well," said he, "two 
francs, possibly." "La prende, la prende — take it, 
take it," said he. Something of a falling off. 



ASSOCIATION DISCUSSED. 237 



CHAPTER XIX. 
ASSOCIATION DISCUSSED; 



OR, THE SOCIALISM OF THE NEW YORK TRIBUNE 
EXAMINED. 



This is the title of a pamplet just issued by Harper 
& Brothers, containing the correspondence recently 
carried on in the New York Courier and Enquirer and 
the Tribune, relative to Fourierism. 

This discussion has been of great service to the 
country in more ways than one, and but for the excit- 
ing events which have occurred in Mexico, and occu- 
pied so much of the public mind, would have been of 
vastly more. Dr. Hawkes has written on this subject, 
and the New York Observer sifted it with ability, but 
the letters of Mr. Raymond are superior to any thing 
which has yet been attempted or in our opinion will 
be attempted. But we have never seen a controversy 
so unequally sustained. Mr. Greely evidently knew 
nothing of his subject. The fact that the present or- 
ganization of society worked incalculable evil, that 
every thing seemed arranged to make the rich richer 
and the poor poorer, he understood. Fourierism was 
planted in his mind by officious friends, who had other 
objects to gain besides the welfare of the human race. 
Feeling the need of reformation, he leaped at once to 



238 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

the remedy proposed, without at all understanding 
its nature or appropriateness. It is evident from tliis 
correspondence, that he had not even the theory 
clearly developed in his own mind. Hence, Mr. 
Raymond has had a heavy task laid upon him — first, 
to instruct his adversary in the knowledge of his own 
foggy plans, then build up his edifice for him, and 
finally go to work and demolish it. He has been 
kinder than Dr. Johnson, who doggedly refused to 
find a man understanding and arguments both. Mr. 
Greely complains of the length of Mr. R.'s letters, 
but when he had this double work to perform, how 
could it be otherwise ? It is seldom one sees a con- 
troversy so feebly sustained by a man, however weak 
his cause, as this is by the Tribune, and we wonder 
how Mr. Raymond could get along at all. Mr. Grreely 
advances hardly a step from his first statement — that 
the poor are needy and something ought to be done 
for them. This is owing partly to his ignorance of 
his own theory, and partly to the fact that, the moment 
he ventured out on debatable ground, he received 
such a blow that he was compelled to take to his cover 
again. Sometimes, in a melo-dramatic tone, ''the 
Tribune strikes in: in the midst of an assembly of 
English peers it has in imagination created, and some- 
times assumes, the aii^ of a professor, or talks about 
the human race in general. But when we come to 
look for the grand framework of sociahsm, the clearly 
defined plan, boldly and ably defended, they are not 
to be found. Whether it is owing to the weakness 
of his cause, or as we stated, to want of proper in- 



ASSOCIATION DISCUSSED. 239 

formatloiij or his badly disciplined mindj his letters 
at all events, as controversial articles, are unworthy 
the name of argument. How Mr. Raymond could 
keep his temper, in dealing with such twaddle and 
disingenuousness is a marvel. Yet he has, and what 
is still better, has not allowed his adversary to skulk 
away by declaring he. is not responsible for the views 
of Fourier or Brisbane, or any other socialist, only 
for his own, which he does not understand, or is afraid 
to give, but drags him forth into the light and makes 
the world see him. He first demolishes the theory 
itself, shows its folly and wickedness from its own 
propositions, then follows it on to its effects upon 
society, where it receives a death-blow. By this dis- 
cussion and other articles connected with it, he has 
effected a great good — torn the mask from this false 
humanity — exposed the jacobinism, thorough radi- 
calism, of the whole thing. He has shown that pro- 
perty is unsafe, law a nullity, and religion a farce, in 
the hands of these men. Robespierre-hke, under the 
guise of being the people's friends, they strike at 
those principles on which the happiness of society is 
based. The whole theory of Fourierism is false — 
false in its plan, false in its promises, false in its 
declarations of superior philanthropy, and utterly 
ruinous in its effects. A distinguished divine said, at 
the late aniversaries, that there was no occasion to 
fear these new-fangled notions, because the welfare 
of the race was their object. Shallow philosophy 
this ! Will he tell us what curse ever befell a republic, 
or can befall it, except it springs from this hypocri- 



240 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

tical cant ? Where the people rule, the most fiendish 
projects must be covered by that falsehood which is 
every where uttered by political demagogues, that 
the interest of the people Hes at the bottom of them, 
if they would succeed. Mr. Raymond has proved 
this conclusively. He has traced the poisonous stream 
both ways back to its fountain head, and shown the 
source itself to be corrupt, and then followed it on 
to the gulf into which it falls. 

We recommend this discussion to all who wish to 
understand the true character of Fourierism, and see 
on what a hollow basis it is established. It does credit 
to Mr. Raymond, and exhibits the vast difference 
between a well-balanced, well-disciplined, and strong 
intellect, and an ill-furnished, ill-regulated one. 



ROME. 241 



CHAPTER XX. 

ROME. 

Rome is one of the pilgrim spots of the human 
mind. Around it cluster the most heroic associa- 
tions, and over its fallen greatness the heart utters 
its saddest tones and learns its saddest lessons. We 
believe that in Roman history the race had reached 
its highest point of military greatness. In it the 
problem whether a military government could stand, 
was solved for all after generations. The education 
of its youth in the profession of arms — the love of 
glory and the scorn of death it kept alive in the hearts 
of the soldiers, and over all the iron and despotic 
sway of its rulers, strengthened and secured, as much 
as human skill and power can secure, that government 
on the firmest foundations. All the moral motives 
adapted to stimulate a military people, and all the 
physical power necessary to execute their wishes, were 
used with consummate skill. The freedom requisite 
to maintain independence of thought and feeling, and 
hence give character to the soldiery, was granted, 
while the strongest checks were furnished against the 
action of this wild power on the government itself. 
Indeed, we look upon the military government of 

21 



242 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

Rome as a model one — the most perfect that human 
power and skill could carry out, and its failure the 
settlement of the principle for ever. The conquests 
it made, the territory it held under tribute, and the 
unrivaled magnificence and splendor it reached at 
home, prove the energy and wisdom with which its 
afi*airs were managed. What is true of the nation, is 
also true of the individuals that composed it. More 
heroic men never lived than Rome furnished. The 
power of human endurance, and the strength of the 
human will, were never more fully exhibited. They 
grew up stern, proud, indomitable beings, filled with 
a great, but lofty enthusiasm, and marked in all their 
actions by the highest self-respect. As the nation 
grew luxurious and corrupt, these features gradually 
wore away — but we were speaking of Rome in the 
prime of its manhood. I suppose we have no concep- 
tion of the splendor and glory of the imperial city. 
Its ruins outshine modern excellence, and its corpse 
is more awful than any living nation. The imagina- 
tion never recalls this fallen empire without coloring 
it with its ancient magnificence ; and, indeed, so 
linked has its name become with all that is grand and 
awe-inspiring, that the traveler on the spot finds it 
difficult to believe the evidence of his senses. It is 
plain that he has been dreaming all his lifetime, or 
is dreaming now. The impressions which the imagi- 
nation from earliest childhood has graven on the soul, 
and the aspect presented to the actual eye, are so 
widely difi*erent, that one seems struggling between 
waking and sleeping — he cannot wholly shake oflF the 



ROME. 243 

early dream — and he cannot believe that what rises 
before him is all that about which he has been dream- 
ing so long. 

Fu-st around Rome spreads the desolate Campagna. 
The plain, once dotted with temples or cultivated 
fields, is now almost a desert. It is cut up into large 
farms, owned by the nobility or wealthy men in the 
city, and let out on shares to farmers or graziers. 
Very little of this, however, is fit for agricultural 
purposes, not even for grazing. But this very deso- 
lation around the old city, is, after all, a great relief 
to one's feelings. It harmonizes more with their 
mood, and speaks their language. Bright fields, and 
thrifty farm-houses, and all the life and animation of 
a richly cultivated country, would present too strong 
a contrast to the fallen ''glory of the world." But 
the sterile earth, the ruins that lie strewed over the 
plain, and the lonely aspect all things wear, seem to 
side with the pilgrim as he muses over the crumbled 
empire. Besides, his faith is not so grievously taxed, 
and his convictions so incessantly shocked. He is 
not compelled to dig through modern improvements 
to read the lines that move him so deeply. There 
they are, the very characters the centuries have writ. 
He sees the footprints of the mighty ages, and lays 
his hands on their mouldering garments. Perhaps 
nothing fills one with thoughts of old Rome more 
than the ruins of the ancient aqueducts stretching 
for miles over this desolate Campagna, like long rows 
of broken colonnades, supporting here and there frag- 
ments of their architraves. Here and there a hut or 



244 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

casella, in ruins, leaning against the sky, is tlie only 
object that marks the plain where the Sabines, the 
Volsci, and the Pelasgi had, in their turn, striven to 
crush the infant empire. 

The city proper now contains about one hundred 
and fifty thousand inhabitants, while the whole em- 
pire, or that over which her own king has temporal 
sway, is but 18,117 Eoman square miles, containing 
a population of only 2,732,736, or less than the single 
State of New York. The whole revenue of this frag- 
ment of by-gone power is only $10,000,000, while the 
expense of collecting is $230,000; and $300,000 more 
go to pay the interest on the public debt, which has 
grown so large that the credit of His Holiness would 
be called in Wall Street decidedly low. 

Those mighty legions that were wont to thunder 
along the Appian Way, and streamed in countless 
numbers out of the city gates on their march to con- 
quer a world, are now represented by a miserable 
army oi fourteen thousand men^ and the kingly guard 
of Caesar, by a richly dressed company of fifty effemi- 
nate noblemen ; nay, he who sits on the throne of 
the Caesars, is a mere dependant on the nod of Aus- 
tria for his place. The city occupies perhaps a third 
of the ground covered by old Rome. Some idea may 
be obtained of the comparative dimensions of the an- 
cient and modern city, by stating that it took eighteen 
aqueducts to supply the one, while three are found 
sufficient for the present demand. The Seven Hills, 
renowned through all time, can stiU be designated. 
Most of them are covered with modern buildings. 



ROME. 245 

Two parallel palaces, built by Micbael Angelo, stand 
on the Capitoline, while the Aventine is almost en- 
tirely naked and covered with rubbish, which it will 
take another century to blend with the common mass 
of earth. The old Palatine, along whose base runs 
the Forum, and one side of which looked down on the 
Circus Maximus, and the other on the Forum and 
Coliseum, stands desolate and lonely on the outskirts 
of the city. A few dwarfish trees wave along its 
summit, and here and there is a small patch of ground 
which the gardener tries to cultivate, after raking oiOf 
the fragments of marble that load it like pebble- 
stones. Nero's Golden House has crumbled away, 
and all its rich ornaments been the prey of the 
spoiler or trampled to pieces by the foot of time. 
Here and there a cavernous arch opens to the vault- 
ed rooms below, once flashing with gold and silver, 
and rich with costly Mosaics. Tangled weeds choke 
the entrance, and one mighty tomb seems to have 
ingulfed all. 

But let us start from the Pincian Hill on the north- 
ern side of Rome, and walk around its ruined sides, 
and view the corpse of this once mistress of the world. 
The features are here, though " Decay's efiacing fin- 
gers" have left few of the lines of beauty. Descend- 
ing the magnificent flight of steps, and turning to the 
right, we are in a few moments at the ^'Piazza del 
Popolo," or place of the people. Here the gate 
opens that leads towards Florence. Turning back 
by a parallel street, we come down the Corso, the 
Broadway of Rome, and once the old Appian Way. 

21* 



246 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

Having traversed a third of its length we turn to the 
right, and after half a mile's walk reach the Tiber, 
where the famous bridge of Michael Angelo crosses 
it to the Castle of St. Angelo, once Adrian's Tomb. 
Passing on, the noble form of St. Peter's bursts on 
the view with its glorious front, and still jnore mag- 
nificent double rows of colonnades sweeping down in 
a bold semicircle from either extremity. From the 
top of this church you have Rome, and the whole 
Campagna, in one coup d'oeih On the north and 
west stretch away the Volscian, Sabine, and Alba- 
nian hills ; ' on the south flows the Tiber through the 
low flat land to the Mediterranean, which sleeps pla- 
cidly in the distance. Around the city, on every 
height, stand magnificent villas ; while, nearer down, 
Rome is spread out like a map. The splendor of a 
noonday sun is on it all, and the fountains before 
the church are sending their showers of diamonds 
towards the sky ; while the old Egyptian obelisk that 
once stood in this very spot, then Nero's Circus, is 
dwindled to a miniature shaft from this height. 
Keeping along the outskirts of the city, moving on 
towards the east, we ascend another hill to the Con- 
vent of San Onofrio. Here is another beautiful 
view of Rome. Beside an oak tree that has lately 
been shivered by the tempest, Tasso was wont to sit 
of an evening and look down on the queen city. He 
had been summoned there to be crowned with the 
laurel wreath, but driven by sickness to this airy and 
salubrious spot, he would here sit for hours and gaze 
on Rome. But the hour of his triumph never came, 



ROME. 247 

and lie sank away and died on this hill, while the 
wreath woven for his brow was hung on his tomb. 
Sleep quietly, thou bold-hearted poet, for the city 
whose praise thou didst covet is a ruin, and the hall 
where thou didst expect to hear the acclamations of 
the great, has disappeared from the knowledge of 
man ! Keeping on our circuit, we pass the Temple of 
Vesta, and the pyramidal tomb of Caius Cestus. 
Turning partly back on our route, and keeping still 
on the outskirts of the city, we come to the '' Capi- 
tol." Having ascended its flight of steps, at the foot 
of which stands an old Roman milestone marking the 
first mile of the Appian Way, the noble area is before 
us, with the equestrian statue of Aurelius — the finest 
in the world — in the centre. Here Rienzi, " The 
last of the Tribunes," fell, in his struggle for liberty. 
At the further end, is the Palace of the Senators 
of Rome. What a mockery ! Rome has no senators 
but in name. The ancient Republic is gone — sub- 
stance and shadow ; then why keep alive the name ? 
Descending on the farther side, lo ! the Forum is be- 
fore us ! Can this be Rome, and this her ancient 
Forum ! The Arch of Septimus Severus, covered 
with its disfigured but still beautiful bas-reliefs, is 
sunk at our feet, as we lean against one of the re- 
maining columns of "Jupiter, the Thunderer," and 
look away towards the solitary Arch of Titus at the 
farther end. The Palatine, bereft of all the magnifi- 
cence the Csesars piled on its top, rises on the right, 
weighing down the heart with its great associations ; 
while farther on, the gray old Coliseum draws its cir- 



248 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. . 

cular summit on the sky. Here, for the first time, 
the traveler comprehends what it all means. The 
Past gives up its dead, and the dead rear again their 
palaces around him. Fancy calls back the Caesars — 
the Golden House of Nero on that desolate hill, and 
philosophers slowly promenade before him along 
the shaded walks of the Forum. The steep Tarpeian 
is near by, and although its top is now a garden, 
yet, like Byron, the wanderer asks and answers the 
question the same moment—^ 

" Is this the rock of triumph — the high place 
Where Rome embraced her .heroes 1 This the steep 
Tarpeian — fittest goal of Treason's race 1 
The promontory where the traitor's leap 
Cured all ambition] Yes! and in yon field below 
A thousand silenced factions sleep — 
The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, 
And still the eloquent air breaths, burns with Cicero." 

Yes, it is immortal ground. Here Horace used to 
walk and muse, as he himself says — 

" Ibam forte via sacra, sicut mens est mos, 
Nescio quid meditans nugarum ; totus in illis." 

" Via Sacra V where is it? Buried many a foot 
beneath the ground. Yet, right there where stands 
the modern Capitol, once stood The Capitol to which 
the Koman orators so often pointed to give effect to 
their appeals ; there Caius Gracchus directed the 
eyea of his hearers ; and, in the language of despair, 
asked if he could find refuge there, while the blood 
of his brother still smoked on its pavement. Thither 



ROME. 249 

Cicero turned, when, raining his accusations on Cati- 
line, he burst forth into thanks to the gods that pre- 
sided on that hill, and exclaimed Ita presentes Ms 
temporihus opem et auxilium nobis tulerunf, ut eos 
poene oculis videri possimus ! " So palpably have 
they been with us in these times, bringing aid and 
succor, that we can almost see them with our eyes !" 
So musing, the hill assumes its olden splendor, when 
the airy marble glittered along its summit, and sta- 
tues of gods seemed guarding its Capitol ; and silver, 
and gold, and precious stones made it the admiration 
of the world. But the structure which the imagina- 
tion reared melts away — the Caesars are shadows — 
the lizard crawls over their ancient palaces, and the 
night bird sits and whistles in the old Forum. It is 
true that here Catiline trod, urged on by his fiery 
ambition — here Cicero thundered and grave senators 
listened. But how changed has every thing become ! 
There still bends the Arch of Titus, reared to grace 
his return from the conquest of Jerusalem. Then the 
haughty victor marched to the sound of music along 
the way, with the spoils of the Holy City carried 
before him, and the weeping train of Judah's captives 
following his triumphal chariot. Then the Palace of 
the Caesars rose in its glory over the Forum, and the 
Capitol looked down upon them laden with the tro- 
phies of a hundred battles. Now, solitary and lone- 
ly, it stands amid the surrounding ruins. Stretched 
away from its triumphal curve are rope-zvalks^ with 
the unconscious spinners leisurely weaving their lines 
in the setting sun. Titus and the Jewish captives 



250 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

rest together. The triumph of the one and the suf- 
ferings of the other are alike forgotten. The rope- 
spinner owns the Via Sacra, and the Forum is a Cow- 
market ! What a satire on human pride and human 
ambition ! The seats of grave senators of Rome 
usurped by coivs from the Campagna ! and the .elo- 
quence of Cicero superseded by the wrangling of a 
cattle-market ! while, instead of shemes that involved 
the fate of the world in their completion, the simple- 
minded peasant weaves his line of flax for some Greek 
fishing-smack. Thus the centuries go silently by, car- 
rying with them man and his achievements. 

A short distance beyond the Forum stands the 
Coliseum, the grandest of all earthly ruins. The 
moon is sailing along the quiet heavens, casting its 
pale light over all, while the arches open like caverns 
in every direction, and the clambering ivy glistens 
and rustles in the passing night wind. Arch above 
arch, seat above seat, corridor within corridor, the 
mighty structure towers away, bringing back the cen- 
turies over the weak and staggering memory, till the 
spirit bows in silent reverence of the awful Past. The 
moonbeams glimmer on the pebbly arena that had so 
often swum before the eye of the dying combatant, 
as voices smote his ear, "hie hahet,'' But what a 
slight impression the earth takes from the scenes en- 
acted upon it ! The red bricks look the same as ever, 
and yon old column stands in the same place it stood 
nearly two thousand years ago. Here anger had 
raged, and fear fallen, and faith soared upward, and 



ROME. 251 

tyranny and persecution mocked — but they had not 
left even their mark on the sand. 

" And thou, bright rolling moon, didst shine upon 
All this, and cast a wide and tender light, 
Making that beautiful which still was so." 

A little farther on, as you return to the city, are 
the ruins of the Basilica of Constantino, through 
which the fragments of immense columns are strewn 
just as they fell, as time slowly pushed them one after 
another from their places. Stand here, and hear the 
night-bird whistle amid the shrubbery that waves 
along the Palatine. Darkness and night make these 
ruins awful ; and that solitary cry, swelling upon the 
warm south wind, sounds like the ghost of Rome 
shrieking out amid the desolation. 

Passing into the city, Trajan's lonely column and 
Forum, filled with standing fragments of beautiful 
columns, bid a sort of farewell to the wanderer as he 
again enters the streets of modern Rome. Hatters' 
shops, tobacco stores, French finery, and Parisian- 
dressed belles, fill Rome of the nineteenth century- 
A. weak and imbecile Pope tells his beads '^ and pat- 
ters prayer" where the Geesars trod ! and the tri- 
umphal processions of the Empire are changed into 
long trains of superstitious monks, as they go to say 
prayers for dead men's souls. 

Starting from the Piazza Spagna, at the Pincian 
Hill, from which we first set out, let us go in an oppo- 
site direction towards the gate that opens the road to 
Naples. Passing by the magnificent church of Marie 



252 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

Maggiore, we come to St. John in Laterano, standing 
near the city walls. This is the mother church of 
Rome. It is older than St. Peter's, and hence, accord- 
ing to the custom of the Roman Catholic Church, 
should be the residence of the Pope. But the Vati- 
can and its splendor please His Holiness better. Still 
the Cardinals of St. John in Laterano assert their 
right of precedence immediately on the death of the 
Pope, and exercise the chief authority not only as 
spiritual, but temporal rulers. They issue new laws, 
and do all His Holiness might do were he alive. It 
is a glorious structure, wrought of the richest mate- 
rial, and finished with elaborate skill. A beautiful 
Baptistry stands on one side, in which all the con- 
verts from the ranks of heretics are publicly baptized 
On the other side is an edifice built over the marble 
staircase, declared to have been brought from Pilate's 
house in Jerusalem, and up which our Saviour trod 
when he went to be tried. Men and women are con- 
stantly ascending this on their knees, muttering 
prayers as they go ; because it grants them indulgence 
for some hundreds of years, and gives to the prayer 
they repeat, power to save them in the direst ex- 
tremity ! Such crowds of devotees climb this stair- 
case, that it has been found necessary to cover the 
hard marble with boards to preserve it from being worn 
out by the knees of those who ascend. But let us turn 
aside a moment, as we return, to the semicircular Thea- 
tridium of the Baths of Diocletian. These magnifi- 
cent baths were built in 302, by Diocletian and Maxi- 
mian. Forty thousand Christians were once employed 



ROME. 253 

upon them — the slaves of a haughty and Pagan despot. 
The followers of Christ were a broken and scattered 
band, and the tyrant then little thought that, over 
the ruins of all that was once so glorious in Rome, 
the Cross would be erected in triumph, and that what 
was once the symbol of shame and reproach would be 
the standard of the Empire. This Theatridium still 
stands, hut it is now a cotton mill ! Yes, proud Dio- 
cletian, thy forty thousand Christians, whom thy 
haughty spirit humbled to the task of erecting a 
structure to satisfy thy soaring pride, have built after 
all but a cotton mill, and a Christian stands beside 
thy mighty failure, and learns a lesson on human 
greatness he will never forget. That Christianity 
thou thoughtest to strangle in its infancy, now covers 
the strongest thrones of earth, and shall still grow 
stronger, while the very ruins of thy structure are 
slowly perishing from the sight of man. Oh, how 
Christianity did struggle for life in this old Empire ! 
What persecutions and bloody massacres have stained 
the very pavements of the city ! But outliving all — 
triumphing over all, it finally sat down on the throne 
of the Caesars. Yet Christianity has also outlived its 
own purity, and lain down at last in a drunken de- 
bauch on its great battle-field. Woe to thee, harlot 
church, for bringing such disgrace on the name by 
which thou didst triumph ! The heart is overwhelmed 
with emotions in traversing Rome, where once the 
pulse of the world beat. All is ruin here — greatness, 
pride, learning, ambition, power, and last of all 
Christianity. 

22 



254 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

The interior of the city is like many other old cities 
of Europe, except that a magnificent palace, that has 
outlived centuries, will meet you at almost every turn. 
The most magnificent villa on the outskirts of Rome, 
is the Borghesian villa, covering acres of ground — ■ 
cut up into almost endless promenades and carriage- 
ways, and filled with trees, fountains, and statuary. 
To leave the dirty streets of Rome of a sultry even- 
ing, and drive through these extensive grounds, seems 
like entering on a fairy land. It is the only spot 
where the Romans seem to escape from the sombre 
influence of their ruined city, and relax into mirth 
and laughter. There is no doubt that the air of an- 
tiquity and fallen greatness which is around Rome 
afi'ects the character of its inhabitants, making them 
more grave and taciturn than they otherwise would 
be, for it is in this respect unlike all other Italian 
cities. The natural vivacity of the Italian is ex- 
ceedingly subdued here. 

But there is one thing respecting which persons at 
a distance form very wrong conceptions — I mean the 
religious charcter of the Romans. They are looked 
upon as superstitious beings, who can be made to be- 
lieve whatever the Pope says, and receive as truth 
whatever monstrous story the priest may invent ; but 
this is not so. They are not possessed with such stu- 
pidity as the Christian world imagines. With the 
exception of the very ignorant, they see through the 
mighty farce the Church plays off for its own amuse- 
ment with perfect distinctness. The Pope being king, 
and hence all his secretaries, ministers, &c., cardinals 



ROME. 255 

or bishops, those of the nobility who seek for political 
distinction, must enter the priesthood and perform its 
functions. But it is entirely a political matter, and 
so understood among themselves. A man becomes a 
priest just as one joins a political party here, simply 
because it is a stepping-stone to influence in the State. 
The others acquiesce, and are silent, and apparently 
credulous, because, to act otherwise, would be a double 
rebellion — first against the king, and second against 
the Head of the Church. We have never obtained 
the confidence even of the most common people, with- 
out hearing them speak in the bitterest terms against 
the Pope and his cardinals. They tax ruinously the 
poor, and that they feel. The licentious lives of the 
priesthood are well known ; and fear^ not superstition^ 
shuts the mouths of the subjects of His HoHness. 
The Catholic religion is losing ground every day ; and 
whatever the catechism may say, intelligent Catho- 
lics do not believe in the infalHbihty of the Pope, any 
more than the Americans believe in the infallibihty 
of their president. The trickery which in earher 
ages bhnded the people is now laughed at ; and if the 
clergy were as much scorned and despised in this 
country, as the multitude of friars and monks are in 
Rome and Italy, we should think the profession was 
soon to be extinct. The men pay less and less atten- 
tion to the ceremonies of the Church, and we should 
call corresponding action here infidelity. Indeed, 
we believe there is more infidelity than Roman 
Catholicism, this day, among the intelligent class of 
Italians. Thus while, by adapting itself to the in- 



256 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

stitutions of every new country into wHcli it intro- 
duces itself, it gains a foothold and spreads, it loses in 
its own land, by adhering to its old superstitions and 
nonsense, which the spirit of the age rejects. We 
believe that Italy in heart is nearly half infidel, and 
that Paris itself is scarcely more sceptical than the 
very seat of His Holiness — Rome. What this in- 
fidelity will work, is more than any one can tell. 
What influence it will have on political matters, will 
depend on circumstances which no one can foresee or 
predict. But one thing we think is certain — how- 
ever much the form of the Catholic religion may 
prevail, the Pope will constantly lose power till his 
spiritual will become what his temporal throne now 
is, a mere shadow. Indeed, there is a tradition now 
in Rome among the lower classes that this is the last 
Pope that will ever sit on the throne. We are surprised 
to find this in the mouths of the ignorant. Whether 
Italy will ever assume again, under any dynasty or 
form of government, her appropriate place among 
the nations of the earth, is very doubtful. If she 
does, she will be the first nation that has grown old 
with decay, and again become regenerated. In this 
respect, nations follow the law of human life. If age 
once seizes upon them they never grow young again. 
They must first die and have an entirely new birth, 
while this new birth never immediately succeeds the 
death. Every thing there is old — cities, houses, and 
churches. The whole economy of outward life must 
be changed to fit the spirit that is now abroad in the 
world. Indeed, we have no faith in the multitude of 



ROME. 257 

conspiracies with which Italy is filled. The strug- 
gling spirit is not strong enough, or at least cannot 
be sufficiently combined. The poor and suffering have 
become too poor. They are beggars, that do not care 
enough for liberty to fight for it ; while those who 
should guide the popular will, seem to lack the steady 
energy that inspires confidence. The love of pleasure 
and its pursuit take from the Italian character the 
manliness so necessary to a republican form of gov- 
ernment. The northern provinces are far better in 
this respect than the southern. In Genoa, for in- 
stance, there is a great deal of nerve and stern re- 
publicanism remaining, which may yet recall the days 
of Spinola. But the moral and religious renovation 
is a still more desperate undertaking. It is easier to 
revolutionize a corrupt church than reform it, as Lu- 
ther most fully proved. But a religious revolution 
in Rome necessarily involves a political one, and, 
reason as men will, they must go together. The 
Church and State are one and indissoluble, and the 
death of either involves the destruction of the other. 
But "what is writ is writ," and religion must yet re- 
vive amid those ruins. The scarlet robes of the car- 
dinals correspond so perfectly with the description in 
the Bevelations, that the Protestant believer is startled 
as he looks on them. They seem to wear the insignia 
of the condemned, and flaunt out before his eyes the 
apparel which utters beforehand their doom. 

22* 



258 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER XXL 

EASTER SUNDAY IN ROME. 

Easter Sunday closes up the pompous ceremonies 
of Holy Week. It is tlie last great day of the po- 
pish feast, and the Pope celebrates High Mass in St. 
Peter's. This is done but three times a year- — Easter 
Sunday, the festival of St. Peter and Paul, and 
Christmas. This day also the Pope wears the tiara, 
or triple crown. It was first worn by Pope Syl- 
vester, with a single coronet. Boniface VIII., about 
the year 1300, added a second, and John II. or 
Urban V., it is not certain which, added a third, 
making it a triple crown, representing the pontifical, 
imperial and royal 'authority combined. But, to the 
day. It was a bright balmy morning, and Eome at 
an early hour seemed waking up to some stirring 
event, and its inhabitants, turned out of doors, were 
pouring towards St. Peter's. It is a mile or more 
from the main part of the city to the church ; and the 
principal street leading to it presented two unbroken 
lines of carriages, one going and the other returning. 
If for a moment you got a view of the street for any 
distance, it appeared like two currents of water — one 
bearing the multitude on, and the other returning 
without them, while between thronged the crowd of 



EASTER SUNDAY IN ROME. 269 

those on foot. At length the cardinals began to ar- 
rive. Carriage after carriagOj to the number of forty 
or fifty, came dashing along, with black horses, and 
crimson plumes, and gilded trappings, looking like 
any thing but a cortege of priests. Each had its three 
gayly attired footmen, and fairly flashed with the 
gold upon them. One carriage, that of the goyer- 
nor of the city, had all the metal about it, even to 
the hubs of the wheel, covered with gold, and sent 
back the sunbeams like a mirror. One after another 
they dashed up to the glorious semicircular colon- 
nade that comes sweeping down from either end of 
St. Peter's, and disappeared, carriage, horses, plumes 
and all, amid the massive columns that formed their 
triumphant entry. You would never take them to be 
humble servants of God, but rather the grandees 
of a court, as they indeed were ; and crowding, not to 
a sanctuary, but to a magnificent temple of art, and 
thinking, not of God, whom they professed to worship, 
but of the pageant of which they were to form a part. 
To get an idea of the ceremony, you must not ima- 
gine St. Peter's crowded^ for that were well-nigh 
impossible — it was never known to be filled, not even 
when the German army was quartered in it. But 
imagine, if you can, an area six hundred and thirty 
feet long, and nearly two hundred feet wide, with 
two magnificent rows of columns stretching along on 
each side of the centre, loaded with the choicest sta- 
tuary. The bottom of this is a tesselated marble 
pavement, and the arches above richly wrought fres- 
coes, bending a hundred and fifty feet over your 



260 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

head, while the dome circles away on your astonished 
vision four hundred feet in the air, covered with mo- 
saics. Imagine, I say, this area, so vast that three 
such buildings as Trinity Church could be placed 
under the dome alone, without encroaching at all on 
the body of the church, lined and covered over with 
gems of art, and holding on its ample floor more than 
thu'ty thousand human beings, and you will have 
some conception of the scene that awaits His Holiness 
as he comes to celebrate High Mass. A portion of 
the army is ranged round the nave, to keep it open 
for the procession as it advances up the church. In a 
lofty balcony are stationed a band of musicians, to 
salute with a triumphal strain the " Head of the 
Church.'' This is the grand preparation that pre- 
cedes the approach of the Pope ; and the mament he 
enters the church, borne in a canopy on men's shoul- 
ders, the whole chapter receive him, and the choir 
and procession strike up, ^' Tu es Petrus et super 
hanc petram gedificabo ecclesiam meam," &c. — "thou 
art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church." 
The foolish old man receives all this with becoming 
humility, the procession moves on towards the main 
altar at the far end of the nave. The grenadiers, 
national troops, and Capitoline Guard, that stand 
around the open centre, drop on one knee as he 
passes and the whole multitude bow themselves in vo- 
luntary homage. At this juncture, the choir pause in 
their " Tu es Petrus," and the military stationed in a 
gallery at the end of the church, midway to the roof, 
fill their trumpets with a triumphant salute that 



EASTER SUNDAY IN ROME. 261 

breaks along the arches and tolls in solemn grandeur 
up the lofty nave, while the great bell from without 
peals forth its acclamations to the 'Hwo hundred and 
fifty 'Seventh successor of the great Apostle." 

I thought at the outset I would give a description 
of the procession and its order, the costumes of car- 
dinals and eastern bishops, and the various ceremo- 
nies that preceded the Mass and Communion ; toge- 
ther with an account of the ordinances themselves. 
But it would be simply to say that His Holiness knelt 
on a crimson and gold cushion — that now he laid 
aside his tiara, and put on his mitre; and now vice 
versd — that he mumbled prayers for which he alone 
was the wiser and none the better — that the digni- 
taries of the church held up the corners of his robes, 
and the choir chanted, and the incense arose, and the 
trumpets brayed, and the throne looked very com- 
fortable, and the people seemed amused. I loitered 
it out till the time appointed for giving the benedic- 
tion to the people, and then threaded my way 
through the throng, and hastened up to the top of 
one of the semicircular colonnades that sweep away 
from St. Peter's, to witness this really imposing cere- 
mony. To imagine it well, the reader must place 
before him a magnificent church, with the paved 
ground gently sloping away into an ample area, 
around which these semicircular colonnades, four 
columns deep, go like two immense arms thrown out 
from either end of the church to embrace it in. A 
hundred and eighty colossal marble statues stand 
along the top of these colonnades, their only balus- 



262 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

trade. Two beautiful fountains throw up their spray 
between, while a gray old granite obelisk from Egypt 
towers away in the centre. The centre of this area 
IS kept open by the military, ranged round it in the 
form of a hollow square. Between them and the 
steps are the living multitude waiting for the bless- 
ing. Behind the lower file are crammed in a black 
mass the countless carriages. In front of the church, 
and about half way up, is a small gallery, or loggia, 
as the Italians term it, covered with crimson cloth, 
and shaded by an immense piece of canvas. Into this 
gallery the Pope advances to bless the people below. 

Standing on the top of one of the colonnades, lean- 
ing against the base of the statue, I had a bird's eye 
view of the whole multitude and pageant below. 
Forty or fifty thousand people stood there in a dense 
mass. It was a grand spectacle, and I contemplated 
it with mingled feelings, yet with the deepest interest. 
There was the soldier in his cap and plume, and there 
the peasant in his picturesque garb, and there the 
beggar in his rags. The Pope had not yet made 
his appearance, and, indeed, for the time being, I 
quite forgot him. It was a pageant and a farce, com- 
bining all the magnificence that dazzles the crowd, 
and all the folly that " makes the angels weep." 

Nearly under me, far down were a group of pil- 
grims, ragged and dirty, lying along the noble steps, 
apparently unconscious of all around — their staves 
leaning across them, their head on their hand, and 
they either nodding or fast asleep. One boy held my 
attention for a long time. He lay on the hard stones 



EASTER SUNDAY IN EOME. 263 

fast asleep, and his father asleep beside him. Suddenly 
there was the prolonged blast of a solitary trumpet. 
The father started up from his slumber, and suppos- 
ing the Pop« was about to appear, roused his boy 
beside him, so that they might not lose the invaluable 
blessing. The tired, drowsy little fellow rose half- 
way up and then fell back again heavily on the steps 
fast asleep. The Pope did not appear, and the father, 
too, soon sunk away in deep slumber beside his son. 
They had wandered far from their quiet home to 
receive the blessing of the Holy Father. Reckless of 
the magnificence around them, of the swaying crowd, 
the ocean-like murmur thiat went up to heaven, they 
had fallen asleep under the shadow of St. Peter's. 
That boy, ragged and dirty as he was, had also Ms 
dreams, and his palace, and objects of ambition ; but 
they were all far away, and many a weary mile must 
be traversed before he would be" amid them again. 
What a change, to be waked from that quiet dream 
by the sound of trumpets, and instead of his own 
rude hut by the mountain stream, to find the lofty 
cathedral before him, and the rumor of thousands 
around him ! 

Suddenly came the shout of trumpets, and as sud- 
denly ceased again, and there stood the Pope, in the 
loggia, clad in his robes of state, and attended by 
his gorgeously clad cardinals. The sea of human 
faces was upturned to him, as clasping his hands, he 
engaged in a short prayer, which none but those who 
stood beside him could hear. When it was over, he 
spread out his hands over the vast assembly that sank 



264 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

as one man to the earth, while the long ranks of sol- 
diers kneeled, with their bayonets erect, under the 
open sky. The benediction, which none but those 
near the person of the Pope could heai?, was then 
pronounced, and a bull anathematizing all heretics, 
thrown out upon the air, and lo ! the pageant was 
over. The multitude sprang to their feet — drum and 
trumpet pealed forth their gladdest notes — the cannon 
of St. Angelo thundered back the joy, and the bells 
threw in their clangor to swell the jubilee that made 
the very city reel. The mighty throng swayed and 
tossed like a moving sea — the steady ranks wheeled 
into order — horses galloped over the area — carriages 
rattled amid the confusion, and the living stream 
went pouring onward to the city. The people had 
been blessed in word but not in deed ; and I thought 
of a conversation I once had with a vetturino re- 
specting His Holiness. Speaking of the condition of 
the lower classes, their wages, poverty, and distress, 
he became highly excited, and closed up with saying, 
'' the poor are taxed for their land and what they raise 
on it. It is nothing but tax, tax, till they have noth- 
ing left. A poor peasant cannot bring a chicken into 
Eome without paying a duty on it to the Pope ; and 
what does he get in return for all this ? La sua bene- 
dizione una volte per anno ! Non e un benedizione, & 
un maledicione.'' " His blessing once a year ! It is not 
a blessing, but a curse.'' This was strong language 
for a Catholic to use, and I looked on him, in undis- 
guised astonishment. Has the blessing of His Holiness 
fallen so low in the estimation of the lower classes ? 



EASTER SUNDAY IN ROME. 265 

How utterly worthless, then, to the more intelligent ! 
The people come to gaze on the magnificent farce, and 
go away, to sneer. There is a feeling deeper than 
superstition, and that is want. The nerve that hunger 
tortures is more sensitive than all others, and the 
Pope will find he can starve his people into heretics 
faster than all Christendom can convert them. The 
pomp and pageantry that formerly controlled the 
multitude are every day becoming less and less efi*ec- 
tive. It is hard to dazzle the imagination when the 
stomach is clamoring for food. Men begin to ask 
questions of their rulers, and the most ignorant can 
ask, " cui bono ?" to the lordliest entertainment. And 
high as the king may sit, and infallible as the Pope 
may be, he has yet to answer these questions directly 
and plainly, and woe be to him when it is understood 
and felt he can give no satisfactory answer. 

After all the ceremony is over you can walk, if 
you will, through St. Peter's, and view its magnifi- 
cence. On one side is arranged a row of temporary 
confessionals, with a placard over each, in every lan- 
guage in the civiKzed world. There the Arab, Rus- 
sian, German, Greek, Swede, Spaniard, and English- 
man, can confess his sins in his own tongue, and 
receive absolution. Poor wretches are kneeling be- 
fore them, pouring the tale of their sorrows and sins 
into the ears of the yawning confessor, who dis- 
misses them, one after another, with lightened con- 
sciences, though not with purer hearts. At sundown, 
if not too tired, you can return and stroll over the 
marble pavement, and listen to the vespers that^ 

23 



266 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

chanted in a side chapel, come stealing sweetly out 
into the amplitude, and float away among the arches 
in ravishing melody. The lamps are burning dimly 
before the altar — twilight is deepening over the glo- 
rious structure, and forms in strange costumes are 
slowly passing and repassing over the tesselated floor. 
The heart becomes subdued under the influence of 
sight and sound, and a feeling almost of superstition 
will creep over the sternest heart. The gloom grows 
deeper, leaving nothing distinctly seen, while that 
vesper hymn comes stealing out on the bewildered 
ear, like a strain from the unseen world. 

But in the evening is the grandest display of all. 
During the day, the interior of St. Peter's has done 
its utmost to magnify His Hohness, and at night the 
exterior must do its share of glorification. This great 
building, covering several acres, is illuminated in its 
entire outer surface. It is an operation of great ex- 
pense, and attended with much danger. It is caused 
by suspending four thousand four hundred lanterns 
upon it, covering it from the dome down. To ac- 
complish this, men have to be let down with ropes, 
over every part of the edifice, and left dangling there 
for more than an hour. Even from the base of the 
church they look like insects creeping over the sur- 
face. Hanging down the precipitous sides of the im- 
mense dome, standing four hundred feet high in the 
air, is attended with so much danger, that the eighty 
men employed in it, always receive extreme unction 
before they attempt it. The last sacrament is taken, 
and their account settled, both for this world and the 



EASTER SUNDAY IN ROME. 267 

next, so that death would not, after all, be so great a 
calamity. The Pope must amuse the people, and 
glorify his reign, though he hazards human life in do- 
ing it. But he has the magnanimity to secure the 
sufferer from evil in the next world. If a rope break, 
and the man is crushed into a shapeless mass on the 
pavement below, his soul immediately ascends to one 
of the most favored seats in Paradise. He fell from 
God's church — ^he died in the attempt to illuminate 
it, and in obedience to God's vicegerent on earth. 
How can the man help being saved ? But to make 
assurance doubly sure, the Pope gives him a passport 
with his own hand, which he assures the poor crea- 
ture, St. Peter, who sits by the celestial gates, will 
most fully recognize. This is very kind of the Pope ! 
If he kills a man, he sends him to heaven, and secures 
him a recompense in the next world for all he lost in 
this. The ignorant creature who is willing to under- 
take the perilous operation for the sake of a few dol- 
lars, wherewith to feed his children, believes it all, 
and fearlessly swings- in mid heaven, where the yield- 
ing of a single strand of the rope would precipitate 
him where the very form of humanity would bo 
crushed out of him. 

But one forgets all this in looking at the illumina- 
tion, which it is impossible to describe. There a.re 
two illuminations. This first is called the silver one, 
and commences about eight o'clock in the evening. 
These four thousand four hundred lamps are so 
arranged as to reveal the entire architecture of the 
building. Every column, cornice, frieze, and window 



268 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

— all the details of the buildingj and the entire struc- 
ture, are revealed in a soft, clear light, producing an 
effect indescribably pleasing, yet utterly bewildering. 
It seems an immense alabaster building, lit from 
within. The long lines of light, made by the column, 
with the shadows between — the beautiful cornice, glit- 
tering over the darkness under it — the magnificent 
semicircular colonnades all inherent with light, and 
every one of the one hundred and eighty statues 
along its top surmounted with a lamp, and the im- 
mense dome rising over all, like a mountain of molten 
silver, in the deep darkness around, so completely 
delude the senses that one can think of nothing but 
a fairy fabric suddenly lighted and hung in mid 
heavens. This effect, however, is given only when 
one stands at a distance. The Pincian Hill is the spot 
from which to view it. All around is buried in deep 
darkness, except that steadily shining glory. Not a 
sound is heard to break the stillness ; and you gaze, 
and gaze, expecting every moment to see the beauti- 
ful vision fade. But it still shines calmly on. 

This illumination lasts from eight to nine ; and just 
as the bell of the cathedral strikes nine, sending its 
loud and solemn peal over the city, a thousand four 
hundred and seventy-five torches are suddenly kin- 
dled, besides the lanterns. The change is instanta- 
neous and almost terrific. The air seems to waver 
to and fro in the sudden light — shape and form are 
lost for a moment, and the vision which just charmed 
your senses is melting and flowing together. The 
next moment, old St. Peter's again draws its burning 



EASTER SUNDAY IN ROME. 269 

outline against the black sky, and stands like a moun- 
tain of torches in the deep night, with a fiery cross 
burning at the top. How the glorious structure 
burns, yet unconsumed ! The flames wrap it in their 
fierce embrace, and yet not a single detail is lost in 
the conflagration. There is the noble fagade in all 
its harmony, and yet on fire. There are the immense 
colonnades wavering in the light, changed only in 
that they are now each a red marble shaft. The 
statues stand unharmed, and all fiery figures. The 
dome is a vast fire-ball in the darkness, yet its dis- 
tinct outline remains as clear as at the first. The 
whole mighty edifice is there, but built all of flame — 
columns, friesco, cornice, windows, towers, dome, 
cross — a temple of fire, perfect in every part, flash- 
ing, swaying, burning in mid heavens. The senses 
grow bewildered in gazing on its intense brilliancy, 
and the judgment pronounces it an optical illusion, 
unreal, fantastical. Yet the next moment it stands 
corrected — that is St. Peters's flaming, unconsumed 
in the murky heavens. Hour after hour it blazes on, 
and the last torch is yet unextinguished when the 
gray twilight of morning opens in the east. This you 
say is a glorious spectacle ; yes, but it is on Sahhath 
evening. The successor of the apostle — the spiritual 
head of the church — the " vicegerent of God on earth, 
has sanctified the Sabbath by this glorious illumina- 
tion in honor of the Son of God !" What a prepos- 
terous idea, what a magnificent folly ! And do you 
think the modern Roman is so complete a fool as to 
believe in the propriety and religion of all this ? By 

23^ 



270 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

no means. He admires and enjoys tlie spectacle, 
then sneers when it is over. 

There are hundreds who go to witness it, and return 
to their homes with dark and bitter thoughts in their 
bosoms. The patriot (for there are patriots still in 
Rome, mindful of her ancient glory), to sigh over his 
degenerate country — the poor and half-starved arti- 
san (for there are many such in the imperial city), to 
curse the wastefulness of his monarch and spiritual 
father, who in this costly amusement robbed hundreds 
of mouths of their daily bread. Could one look 
through the darkness that wraps Rome, and beneath 
the calm surface that is presented to the eye, he 
would see rebellion enough, were it once harmonized 
and concentrated, to shake the papal throne into frag- 
ments on its ancient foundations. The flames around 
St. Peter's w^ould be seen to be typical of the moral 
fires around the seat of papacy. But the embrace of 
the latter would not be found so harmless as that of 
the other, and men would not gaze on it in such 
pleasant ecstacy, but wdth the dark forebodings of 
him who feels the first throb of a coming earthquake. 
The years do not move round in a tread-mill, but each 
pushes on its fellow, and all are tending to a certain 
goal. They have their mission, and God his designs ; 
and he is stupid and blind who believes that man can 
always be deluded by the same follies. The age of 
interrogation has commenced. Men begin to ask 
questions in Rome as well as here, and every one 
tells on the fate of papacy more than a thousand can- 
non shot. Physical force is powerless against ^ch 



EASTER SUNDAY IN ROME. 271 

enemieSj while pageantry and pomp only increase the 
clamor and discontent. 

How much more befitting the head of any church, 
however corrupt, or the monarch on any throne, how- 
ever oppressive, to take the thousands of dollars 
spent in these two illuminations, and buy bread for 
the poor ! Were this done, the day of evil might be 
postponed ; for on the Pope's head would be rained 
the blessings of the poor, which, under the govern- 
ment of God, are always so powerful to avert evil. 
The money squandered on these illuminations would 
have poured joy through hearts that seldom feel its 
pulsations, and been a benediction that the poor 
would have understood and appreciated. To spread 
out one's empty hands over the multitude is an easy 
thing, and accomphshes nothing. But with those 
hands to fill thousands of hungry mouths, would ac- 
complish much, and exhibit something of the paternal 
care of a "Father." 

But this does not close the ceremonies of Holy 
Week. The Pope furnishes one more magnificent 
spectacle to his subjects and his flock. The next 
night after the grand illumination is the "giran- 
dola," or fire-works of His Hohness ; and we must say 
that he does far better in getting up fire-works than 
religious ceremonies. This "girandola" does credit 
to his taste and skill. It is the closing act of the 
magnificent farce, and all Eome turns out to see it. 
About half-way from the Corso — the Broadway of 
Rome — to St. Peter's, the famous marble bridge of 
Michael Angelo crosses the Tiber. The Castle of St. 



272 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

Angelo, formerly the vast and magnificent tomb of 
Adrian, stands at the farther end. This castle is 
selected for the exhibition of the fire-vrorks. None of 
the spectators are permitted to cross the bridge, so 
that the Tiber flows between them and the exhibition. 
There is a large open area as yon approach the 
bridge, capable of holding twenty or thirty thousand 
people. In a portion of this near the river, - chairs 
are placed, to be let to strangers at two or four pauls 
apiece, according as one is able to make a good bar- 
gain. The windows of the neighboring houses that 
overlook the scene are let weeks beforehand. The 
ordinary price of a seat, or even of a good standing 
spot in one of these houses, is a scudi or dollar. To- 
wards evening, the immense crowd begin to move in 
the direction of St. Angelo, and soon the whole area, 
and every window and house-top, is filled with human 
beings. About eight, the exhibition commences. 
The first scene in the drama represents a vast Gothic 
cathedral. How this is accomplished I cannot tell. 
Every thing is buried in darkness, when suddenly, as 
if by the touch of an enchanter's wand, a noble Go- 
thic cathedral of the size of the immense castle, stands 
in light and beauty before you. The arrangement of 
the silver-like lights is perfect, and as it shines on 
silent and still in the surrounding darkness, you can 
hardly believe it is not a beautiful vision. It disap- 
pears as suddenly as it came, and for a moment utter 
darkness settles over the gloomy castle. Yet it is 
but for a moment. The next instant a sheet of flame 
bursts from the summit with a fury perfectly appal- 



EASTER SUNDAY IN ROME. 278 

ling ; -white clouds of sulphureous smoke roll up the 
sky, accompanied with molten fragments, and detona- 
tions that shake the very earth beneath you. It is 
the representation of a volcano in full eruption, and 
a most vivid one too. Amid the spouting fire, and 
murky smoke, and rising fragments, the cannon of 
the castle are discharged, out of sight, almost every 
second. Report follows report with stunning rapid- 
ity, and it seems for a moment as if the solid struc- 
ture would shake to pieces. At length the last throb 
of the volcano is heard, and suddenly from the base, 
and sides, and summit of the castle, start innumera- 
ble rockets, and serpents, and Roman candles, while 
revolving wheels are blazing on every side. The 
heavens are one arch of blazing meteors — the very 
Tiber flows in fire; while the light, falling on ten 
thousand upturned faces, presents a scene indescriba- 
bly strange and bewildering. For a whole hour it is 
a constant blaze. The flashing meteors are crossing 
and recrossing in every direction — fiery messengers 
are traversing the sky overhead, and, amid, the inces- 
sant whizzing, and crackling, and bui^sting, that is 
perfectly deafening, comes at intervals the booming 
of cannon. At length the pageant is over, and the 
gaping crowd surge back into the city. Lent is over 
— the last honors are done to God by his revealed 
representative on earth, and the Church stands ac- 
quitted of all neglect of proper observances ! Is it 
asked if the people are deceived by this magnificence ? 
By no means. A stranger, an Italian, stood by me 
as I was gazing on the spectacle, and we soon fell 



274 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES, 

into conversation. He was an intelligent man, and 
our topic was Italy. He spoke low but earnestly 
of the state of his country, and declared there was 
as much genius and mind in Italy now as ever, but 
they were not fostered. An imbecile, yet oppressive 
government monopolized all the wealth of the State, 
and expended it in just such follies as these, while 
genius starved and the poor died in want. I have 
never heard the poor Pope so berated in my own 
country. At the close of the representation of a 
volcano, I remarked that it resembled perdition. 
''Yes," said he, with a most bitter sneer, "hell is in 
Rome nowadays.'' Had the Pope or one of his 
gensd'armes heard it, he would have seen the inside 
of a prison before morning. I was exceedingly inter- 
ested in him, for he was an intelligent and earnest 
man ; and when I turned to go away, I took him by 
the hand and bade him good-by; saying, another 
day is finished. "Yes," he replied, with the same 
withering sneer, another day of our Master, another 
day of OUT Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.'' I was 
perfectly thunderstruck at the man's boldness. Such a 
satire on His Holiness, and his mode of celebrating a 
holiday, in the midst of a crowd, startled me, and I 
trembled lest his imprudence should bring down on 
him the vengeance of papal power. But the man's 
heart was evidently full of bitterness at the mockery 
and folly before him, while his country lay prostrate in 
the dust. "Addio," said he, as he shook my hand, 
and the next moment was lost in the crowd. Many a 
time have 1 thought of him since, and would give 



EASTER SUIS^DAY IN ROME, 275 

much to know Ms after Mstory. Perhaps lie has be- 
fore this suffered as a conspiratorj and gone with the 
multitude of those whose tongues His Holiness has 
silenced in prison or death. And yet the man was 
right. What a close to religious ceremonies had 
these last two nights been ! Their moral effect on 
the people was like that of any fire-works, with the 
exception that the successor of the apostle had got 
up these, and graced the Sabbath with the illumina- 
tion, haying provided beforehand for the breaking of 
a few necks, by administering the last sacrament to 
the poor creatures who climbed up St. Peter's. The 
sanctity and infallibility of the Spiritual Father are 
not so easy to believe in, under the shadow of the 
papal throne, and it puzzled us prodigiously to account 
for the conversions to Catholicism of English and 
Americans in Rome. How a man of ordinary sense 
and penetration can become a Eomanist in Rome, is 
passing strange. The hollowness of the whole sys- 
tem so plain to be seen — the almost open farce the 
Pope and his cardinals enact in the face of intelligent 
men, would be sufficient, we should think, to prevent 
a man of common shrewdness from adopting the 
belief. It seemed to us that there was no effort to 
conceal the mockery from clear-sighted men. The 
whole parade and pomp appeared to be got up for the 
express purpose of deluding the ignorant by dazzling 
their senses, and it was expected other men would 
coincide solely on the ground of being " particijJes 
criminis.'' It was like a party procession, designed 
to influence only the more ignorant and impulsive. 



276 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

And jet there are found those who, in the face of it 
all, and in direct opposition to their early education 
and more mature prejudices, embrace the Roman 
Catholic religion. Yet these are such men as become 
Mormons, and Millerites, and Quakers at home.. 
There is a class of those who seem fitted by nature ' 
to prefer the inconsistent and ridiculous in religion, 
rather than reason and common sense. They appear 
to have a strong desire to be made fools of; and the 
greater the folly, the stronger their tendency towards 
it, and the greater their tenacity when once it is em- 
braced. 

How changed were our feelings, as at midnight we 
strolled away to the Coliseum, and lingered amid its 
cavernous arches, and listed to the sighing of the 
wind among the trees that waved along its tops, 
while the full moon passed silent and serene along 
the tranquil heavens. I had been to see a Christian 
fete by the Tiber, and I stood where the Caesars had 
once their fetes, and pleased the crowd by turning 
wild beasts loose on Christians. Romans had ga- 
thered there by tens of thousands to see Christians 
die, and Romans assembled now to see the illumina- 
tion of a Christian Pope. What revolutions Time 
efi'ects ! His chariot wheels as they roll along, drag 
down thrones and empires, and leave on their ruins 
a Christian emperor, and a Christian government. 
They roll on, and Christianity is stretched in the 
dust, and its ruins lie scattered over the ruins of its 
foe. They will still roll on, and another scene is to 
be displayed on the ruins of both, and more glorious 



EASTER SUNDAY IN ROME. 277 

than either. Ruins may be piled on ruins, till history, 
''with all its volumes vast," seems to have but one 
page ; yet there is one throne and one kingdom yet 
to be erected, which shall stand the assaults of time 
and never grow old. Prophecy is true, though we 
cannot discern how it is to be accomplished. The 
''Man of Sin'' is to be slain, though we cannot see 
the sword lifted for his destruction. All human ex- 
periments fail, but the final Divine experiment will 
end the chaos of human errors, and bring order and 
light into the moral world. 



24 



278 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER XXIL 

RELICS. 

The custom of preserving relics has its foundation 
in human affection. We love to retain any remnant 
of what we loved and lost. The portraits of our 
friends and relatives are preserved because they seem 
to be a part of them still left to us. "- The old arm- 
chair" where a mother sat, may be fraught with asso- 
ciations that the heart would not part with for the 
wealth of the world. The old homestead — the old 
play-ground and school-house are dear to us from the 
associations attached to them. The slightest gift of 
a friend over whose form the grass is waving and the 
breeze blowing, is cherished more than the costliest 
present of a living person. The chair even of Leigh 
Richmond has been brought to this country, and ex- 
hibited in public ; and were it possible to obtain a 
piece of the cross on which our Saviour hung, or look 
on the spear that entered his side, who would not be 
filled with the profoundest emotions ? Especially, 
were the sepulchre in which he lay placed before us, 
would not our hearts thrill with indescribable feel- 
ings ? It is for this reason the Christian cannot look 
on Mount Calvary, or the hill of Olivet, without a sad- 
ness and an awe that find no outward expression. 



RELICS. 279 

Dig up one single bone of all the prophets that lie 
scattered over the plains of Palestine, and who would 
not touch it with respect ? A relic is like another 
power given to memory, bringing back with tenfold 
clearness that which has long since fled. It stands 
for the time being as the representative of that which 
is lost to us for ever, and hence necessarily receives 
a part of the affection we had for the original object. 
So that we see the love of the Catholic for relics is 
not a superstition, but a natural feeling. The cre- 
dulity consists in believing every thing said to be a 
real relic^ every marvellous tale a priest may relate of 
any old scrap he may chance to pick up in the streets 
— and the sin^ in investing them with power which 
belongs alone to Him who can forgive sins. If the 
Romanist of Europe really possessed the garments 
and bones of the saints who bore testimony to the 
faith of Christ, we should not blame them for being 
attached to them, but we should not blame them for be- 
lieving they possessed the power of working miracles. 
Yet even this belief has its excuses, at least such as 
should make us more lenient in our judgment than 
we usually are. We find in the New Testament, 
that handkerchiefs were carried from the Apostles to 
sick persons, and they were cured by the contact ; 
and the very credulity of Catholics may have sprung 
out of a proper feeling in the first place. We are 
speaking now simply of the ignorant, and not of the 
priests who use the credulity of the illiterate to secure 
their own ends. In the second place, with regard to 
the authenticity of relics we may be too skeptical. 



280 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

We have the Coliseum, the old Forum, the Capitollne , 
Hill, and even the coin of the Caesars, that lived 
before and after Christ. Statues, and portraits, and 
vessels, and fragments of art have come down to us 
from the time of our Saviour. The sepulchres of the 
Etruscans still stand, that were built years before the 
Christian era. The temples of Paestum rise on the 
plain just as they did when Tiberius himself visited 
them as interesting ruins. If we have relics of ages 
that were ancient when Chirst lived, why not have 
them of him ? For our part, we are inclined to be- 
lieve vastly more of the stories told at the present 
day around Jerusalem than many others. We think 
the localities are more apt to be known than otherwise. 
The very interest gathered around the spot, and the 
constant watch the Christian world has kept upon it, 
were calculated to preserve every thing associated with 
it, and we are not sure the Roman Catholics have 
not some interesting relics of the first saints. But 
the difficulty is, we have so many that are both apo- 
cryphal and ridiculous, that we do not know what to 
believe. Finding how strong the love of relics was 
in the Christian heart, bhnd and corrupt priests mul- 
tiplied them till their name became legion ; and not 
satisfied with increasing the number, they increased 
also their virtue, till the whole subject is merged in a 
mass of superstition. 

In traveling through Italy, we were constantly 
met with these apocryphal relics — starting out from 
every crevice of every church, and bearing the most 
ridiculous labels that human folly could invent. 



EELICS. 281 

Thus your are shown the ashes of nearly all the Apos- 
tles, in the single country of Italy. And what is a 
little curious, they are distributed around in different 
sections with the most admirable justice. Thus, at 
Genoa, we saw the ashes of John the Baptist carried 
in solemn procession to the sea-shore, in order to 
allay the tempest that was sending the waves in such 
terrific shocks against the city that they threatened 
to batter down its walls. Remembering that the bold 
Baptist lost his head by a woman, they now ayenge 
him by not allowing any female to see his remains. 
At Rome, they have the ashes of Peter and Paul, 
with a magnificent church built over each, bearing 
their names. At Lucca, in the cathedral, we were 
shown an exact likeness of our Saviour, which could 
not but be correct, since it was an exact copy of the 
face executed by an angel. Secreted in a part of 
the church, and guarded with great care, is a wooden 
statue of our Saviour, which we were solemnly told 
by a priest, was made under the following remarkable 
circumstances : After the crucifixion, the disciples 
suddenly remembered they had no portrait of their 
Lord to look upon. Nicodemus, after pondering over 
it awhile, determined to make, from memory, a wood- 
en statue. So going out into the forest, he selected 
a piece of cedar and w^ent to work. The body was 
not difficult to execute, and he soon finished it ; but 
the face he found a more serious and intricate work. 
So leaving it alone awhile, he retired into the woods to 
muse upon the features he loved to look upon in life, and 
thus recall their expression ; when he accidently fell 

24* 



282 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

asleep. When lie awoke, lie naturally hastened to his 
statue to see what next could be done, when lo ! there 
it lay, finished in every part, and the very image of 
his departed Lord. An angel had taken pity on 
Nicodemus, and while he slept, kindly turned artist 
and finished the statue. This has been handed down 
from generation to generation, without decay, and is 
now known as the "Volto Santo," a sacred counte- 
nance. Now if this were a remarkable head, and the 
whole thing an exquisite piece of workmanship, there 
might be some sense in giving it this miraculous ori- 
gin. But when it is really a very common afiair, and 
the face inferior in every respect to a fourth-rate 
portrait, we do wonder "tl^e people can believe it to 
have been the work of an angel. It is, at least, pay- 
ing a vei^y poor compliment both to his genius and 
his mechanical skill. An ordinary mortal could have 
done better. 

Every one has heard of our Lady of Loretto, and 
the temple that was brought from Jerusalem through 
the air. Palestine is the grand fountain head of all 
valuable relics ; and the choicest ones are brought 
from there either through the air, or by more ordi- 
nary modes of transportation. Thus, in Rome, near 
the church of St John, in Laterano, the oldest church 
in the city, is a small building containing the veritable 
marble steps up which Christ went into Pilate's hall, 
when he was about to be judged for his life. For 
aught we know, this flight of some sixteen marble 
steps may have belonged to Pilate's hall. It is cer- 
tain that they were brought from Jerusalem, in the 



EELICS. 283 

time of the CrusadeSj and formerly constituted the 
entrance to some magnificent edifice of the city, and 
they may have been the very steps up which the Sa- 
viour trod, weary and exhausted, from his long strug- 
gle in the Garden, when he prayed that if possible 
the cup might be removed from him. All this may 
be true, but why they should therefore be called '^ La 
Scala Santa," or sacred stairs, we cannot comprehend. 
One might as well make sacred every highway about 
Jerusalem and Nazareth, and every house and field 
the Son of Man entered or crossed. But this La 
Scala Santa is indeed a sacred thing, and no human 
foot is allowed to touch it — the priest even dares not 
put the sole of his foot upon it. Every one who 
climbs them does it on his knees, praying as he goes. 
How frequently we have stood at the foot of these 
stairs, and watched the crowd ascending one after 
another on their knees, muttering their prayers as 
they went. Decrepit men, and young and lovely 
women, and even children, toil laboriously up, believ- 
ing that they, by that act, receive a virtue which will 
sustain them in the hour of greatest need. Two dif- 
ferent prayers are furnished for those who make the 
ascent, either of which will do. One is shorter than 
the other, and can be repeated in a single breath, in 
case of emergency. To those who mutter these 
prayers as they ascend on their knees, indulgence of 
three hundred years is granted, while, at the same 
time, the prayer attains such virtue by being said in 
such circumstances, that ever after, when repeated, it 
has power to save the soul. In the hour of extremest 



284 RAMBLES ANB SKETCHES. 

peril — in the turbulence and commotion of an unex- 
pected, unannounced death, this prayer, if remem- 
bered and uttered, will save the soul beyond the 
reach of harm. Who would not ascend sixteen steps 
on their knees to obtain such a precious boon ? Who 
would not carry about with him a prayer possessing 
such tremendous power? It is a talisman against 
the spirits of the unseen world, and will wipe out a 
whole life of sin. To the poor wretch, struggling un- 
der a sense of guilt, who knows not the moment nor 
the circumstances under which he may be summoned 
away to the retributions of another world, how cheer- 
ing and consoling such a promise as this from the 
vicegerent of God on earth ! Whether on the rock 
or in the sea — in the desert or smoke of battle — any 
where and every where, he carries with him the power 
to save himself — that single prayer. Ah, if it did 
all that it promised to do, then one might well mount 
those sacred steps on his knees, and thank heaven he 
was able to gaze on them before he died. But as the 
multitude do believe the promise true, what wonder is 
it they come in crowds to obtain its blessings ? So 
constant is the abrasion on those marble steps from 
the pressure of human knees, that the Pope has been 
compelled to cover them with boards to prevent them 
from being worn away. Every few years these boards 
have to be replaced by others — the old having be- 
come thin from the crowd of pilgrims that daily pass 
over them. 

At the bottom of this flight of stairs is a marble 
tablet, forbidding any one to touch his feet to the 



RELICS. 285 

steps. Being written in Italian, however, a foreigner 
may be in utter ignorance of the prohibition. It was 
so with an acquaintance of ours — an ardent, fearless, 
southern man. Visiting this Scala Santa, he sup- 
posed of course, if they were worth seeing they were 
worth mounting ; so he went, with a hop, skip, and 
jump, up the steps. The scream that succeeded from 
the pilgrims, and those gazing on, was terrific, and 
arrested oui' thoughtless countryman as though a bat- 
tery had opened on him. He stopped about midway 
to the top, and turned toward the multitude that was 
shouting and screaming below. All sorts of gestures, 
and exclamations, and maledictions were made, and 
uttered with the most passionate vehemence, but they 
were alike lost on our poor Yankee, who could not un- 
derstand a word of all that was said. He stood like 
a monument, gazing on the distracted Catholics that 
were in a perfect uproar to see his sacrilegious feet 
on the sacred steps. But at length a soldier came 
and leveled his musket at him — a sign which he un- 
derstood, and so made his escape in the most rapid 
manner possible. 

It is cmious to see what extra pains the Catholics 
frequently take to make a miracle inconsistent with 
itself. Thus, in going through the Mamertine pri- 
sons at Home, where Paul is said to have been con- 
fined, we were shown the very cell in which he lay. 
It is a solid rock, with a fountain bubbling up from 
the bottom, hollowed out by miraculous power to 
slake the thirst of the famishing Apostle. All this is 
natural enough ; but there is another miracle related, 



286 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

which does not seem to have been performed on so 
economical a plan. Going down a flight of steps 
(so the tradition runs) from one cell to another, the 
keeper, in a moment of passion, smote the Apostle 
on the side of the head. The blow sent it against 
the rock forming the side of the cavern. But, to pre- 
vent the injury a contact with the solid wall would 
inflict, miraculous power again interposed and made 
the rock suddenly retreat where the head would have 
struck it, forming a large cavity which still remains, 
and was shown me with the greatest sobriety. Now 
I have three objections to this miracle. In the first 
place, it would have been much easier to have checked 
the blow than pressed back the rock. In the second 
place, only half the injury was prevented; for the 
bufi'et had to be endured, while a less miracle would 
have prevented both the stroke of the hand and the 
collision with the wall. In the third place, the cavity 
is unfortunately so high above the steps on which the 
Apostle is said to have stood at the time of the blow, 
that he must have been at least seven feet in height 
to have had his head reach the spot. I mentioned 
this to the pious friar who was explaining the miracle 
to me with the utmost particularity, but the only re- 
ply I obtained for it was a sullen look and obstinate 
silence afterwards. He smelt the unbelieving heretic 
at once. 

But perhaps the most remarkable relic I stumbled 
upon, was a representation, in outline, of the dimen- 
sions of the foot of the Virgin Mary. I never saw 
but this in all Italy, and if it is common, it is kept 



EELICS. 287 

close and private. It inclosed a prayer, of which the 
following is a translation : — 

" All hail, Mary, Most Sacred Virgin Mother of 
God. 

" Correct measure of the foot of the most blessed 
Virgin Mother of God, cut from her own shoe, which 
is preserved with the greatest devotion in the Monas- 
tery of Spain. Pope John XXII. granted three 
hundred years of indulgence to whomsoever should 
kiss three times this measure, and recite three ''Ave 
Maria's'' — which was also confirmed by Pope Cle- 
ment VIII., in the year of our Redemption, 1603. 
This indulgence not being limited, one can obtain as 
often as he wishes the aid of the most Sacred Virgin. 
It can also be applied to spirits in purgatory; and, 
for the greater glory of the Queen of Heaven, it is 
permitted to take from this measure other similar 
measures^ all of which shall bestow the same indul- 
gence. 

" Mary, Mother of God, pray for us." 

What a ridiculous farce this is, and what a vile 
and wicked delusion practised on the human soul ! 
This is no device of wicked heretics to throw contempt 
on Romanism. It is their own act. The device is 
theirs, and the ridicule and contempt of their own 
seeking. And yet we are called bigots for con- 
demning the frauds and lies of Romanism, and hold- 
ing up their follies to the laugh of mankind. But 
who is the bigot — the man who defends such decep- 
tion, or he who condemns and exposes it ? Besides, 
he incurs no slight responsibility who misleads the 



288 • RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

human spirit in this way, and cheats it into a belief 
of pardon and safety by a lie and fraud. In this 
light, it becomes a most solemn matter, and stamps 
the priest who defends it more than a fool — a betrayer 
of human souls. Not to weary one with the count- 
less relics that meet one at every turn, and in every 
church, we will give a part of the catalogue of those 
found in the sinrie church of St. Ranida. From 
this one example, one can learn to what an extent the 
passion for relics is carried in Italy. In connection 
with this catalogue, it is stated that tivo thousand 
three hundred martyrs lie interred within the church. 
A rather large number, but we will not stop to dis- 
pute it. St. Peter and Ananias are here, according 
to the inscription, while the chm^ch of St. Peter's is 
also said to be over the bones of the former. There 
is here a girdle of the Savioui', an arm of Philip, and 
an arm of Barnabas, &c. There are also the veil of 
Agatha, reed and sponge which were offered to our 
Lord on the cross in his agony, the vessel in which 
Christ washed the disciples' feet, the swaddling 
clothes in which, when an infant, he was wrapped, 
the heads of St. Luke and Pauline, and arms innume- 
rable. There is also an image of Christ taken in 
his lifetime, notwithstanding the story they tell in 
Genoa about the Volto Santo ; and, to cap the cli- 
max, we were gravely shown a piece of the chemise 
of the Virgin Mary ! It was a narrow piece of coarse 
linen, about half a finger in length. It had stood the 
wear and tear of time admirably, and I must be ex- 
cused when I say that the exhibition of a piece of the 



RELICS. 289 

chemise of Mary two thousand years old, as a relic of 
such incomparable value, perfectly upset my gravity, 
and the good friar was horrified at the incredulous 
smile that passed over my features. 

It must be remembered that some of these relics 
are gravely defended by the Pope ; and we saw a book 
in Rome, written by an American bishop of the Ca- 
tholic church, in which he went into a long argument 
to prove that the three relics exhibited in St. Peter's 
at the close of Holy Week were genuine ones. These 
three bona fide relics, according to an American 
priest, are a piece of the spear that pierced our Sa- 
viour's side, a piece of the cross on which he hung, 
and the bloody image of his face left on a handker- 
chief which one of the female disciples (we cannot 
this moment recall her name) offered to him, as he 
was toiling up Calvary. Being weary and faint, 
and his face covered with bloody sweat, this female 
gave him her handkerchief, which he merely pressed 
against his face and returned to her. The stain of 
blood which was left gave the outlines of the fea- 
tures ; and this valuable relic has been preserved for 
nearly two thousand years. On a certain night of 
Holy Week they are exhibited. We ourselves went 
to this novel display. Deep twilight had settled over 
the magnificent temple, while the uncertain light of 
the feeble lamps that were scattered around, served 
only to make the gloom visible. The multitudes 
were gathered in groups over fche tesselated marble 
pavement in solemn silence, when a priest appeared 
in a lofty balcony with an attendant beside him, bear- 

25 



290 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

ing a ligtt, and swayed the fragment of the spear 
before them. • As if smitten by a single blow, they 
prostrated themselyes on the floor in reverence. The 
same ceremony accompanied the presentation of the 
piece of the cross and the bloody face, and the whole 
was finished. 

This the Pope and his cardinals sanction, and 
make a part of the ceremonies of Holy Week, and 
this an American priest defends. Let ns not be so 
deluded as to believe that the superstition or false- 
hood that makes men, when in one country, utter 
such nonsense, will leave them when on our shores. 
Roman Catholicism is the death of freedom, as well 
as religion — of knowledge, as well as of virtue ; and 
our statesmen, in their boasted liberality towards 
its principles, will yet find that they have not only 
betrayed their country, but been most egregiously 
fooled. He who defends this religion on our shores, is 
the greatest bigot and the narrowest-minded man that 
can be found. His boasted liberality is sheer igno- 
rance or downright wickedness. We had better be 
liberal towards monarchies and monarchical senti- 
ments ; for it would not be half so dangerous as the 
present indulgence manifested by our statesmen and 
legislators towards that religion which has wrapped 
the world in deeper darkness than paganism, and 
checked civilization more than a thousand years. 



POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY, 291 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY. 

The most engrossing affair of Europe at present, 
is the attitude the Roman Pontiff has assumed, and 
the probable result both to himself and Italy. Those 
acquainted with history, are aware of the iniquitous 
partition made of Italy after the downfall of Napo- 
leon. The allied sovereigns, assembled in Vienna, 
regarded it as so much common plunder. Venice and 
Milan were given to Austria ; Modena sliced off for 
an Austrian prince, who had usurped the name of 
Este ; while the wife of Napoleon, as the daughter of 
Austria, had Parma. A Bourbon had a life interest 
in Modena, and Genoa was treacherously given over 
by England into the hands of Piedmont. The Pope 
was allowed to retain possession over about 18,117 
Roman square miles, containing a population of 
2,500,000. Over this he rules as absolute king. So 
heavy have been his oppressions, that his kingdom 
has been reduced to bankruptcy. The revenue has 
amounted to only $10,000,000, one quarter of which 
was expended in mere collection. The public debt 
increased so fast, that constant loans were necessary, 
until at length the government securities have all been 
used up, and the Pontiff has been compelled to mort- 



292 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

gage his palaces at Rome. The legates and delegates 
ruling the several provinces have been notoriously 
dishonest and corrupt ; even magistrates could be 
boughtj while men could be imprisoned ad infinitum 
on mere suspicion. Six thousand are computed to be 
incarcerated every year, or one out of every four 
hundred of the population. 

Now, when we add to all these the rigorous censor- 
ship of the press, the espionage of the police, and the 
relentless persecution of men for their political opin- 
ions, to say nothing of the oppressive taxes and dis- 
couragement of all industry, we cannot be surprised 
at the bitter feelings manifested by the people towards 
the Pope. The stream of all their troubles is traced 
directly to the pontifical throne. At the feet of the 
Holy Father have hitherto sunk all their hopes and 
happiness. I was surprised to find the common 
people nourishing strong hostility to the Pope. It is 
not to be supposed, however, that the Pope has been 
worse than the other sovereigns of Italy; he has 
simply Been just like them — one of them — and a 
mere creature of Austria. In Genoa, spies of gov- 
ernment dog your footsteps day and night ; and every 
family is required to report to the head of police, in 
the morning, the name of any person, not a member 
of it, who chances to sleep there over night, on pain 
of imprisonment. 

All over Italy, as a man said to me in Rome, in 
answer to some inquiries respecting the Pope, " a per- 
son, who lives here, must wear a bandage over his eyes 
and a seal on his lips." A corrupt sovereign, corrupt 



POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY. 293 

priesthood, corrupt courts, corrupt ofiScials — ^half of 
them pardoned banditti — every where make a mockery 
of justice, religion, and human suffering. The strong 
hand of power has been crushing the life out of Italy, 
and hence have arisen the endless conspiracies which 
have resulted only in filling Austrian prisons with 
victims and ships with exiles. 

Now it is evident, from this meager outline, that 
such a state of things could not long exist. There is 
a limit to all oppression, a point where desperation 
begins and revolutions follow. Pope Gregory was a 
tool of Austria ; and too stupid to perceive, or too 
timid to prevent, the bankruptcy and fast approaching 
ruin of his kingdom, let oppression take its course. 
But the present Pontiff, on coming into power, has had 
the sense to discover his true position, and taken the 
only course by which to allay the smothered fires of 
rebellion, that were burning portentously under his 
throne. He knew the state of the public feehng — 
that every thing was rife for an outbreak ; and had 
Cardinal Lambruschini, the old Pope's chief minister, 
been elected in his place, there doubtless would have 
been a convulsion that would have overturned the 
Papal throne, or ended in a general massacre of the 
people. But Pope Pius took his seat, and a calm — 
the calm of expectation and of anxiety — followed. 
He was surrounded with difficulties — a bankrupt and 
impoverished kingdom, a suffering and maddened 
people on the one side, and the power of Austria on 
the other. To act for the people would bring down 
on him the armies of Austria — to act for Austria, 

25* 



294 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

the wrath of the people. A few days after his elec- 
tion, he abolished the secret tribunal for political 
offenders ; he next composed a Council of Cardinals, 
to hear on a certain day the grievances of any one 
who chose to come ; and finally ordered a private let- 
ter-box to be affixed to the Vatican, in which all could 
drop their complaints and petitions. Still the people 
scarcely knew what to believe ; these might all be 
simply strokes of policy to allay popular indignation. 
He next dismissed Cardinal Lambruschini, but this 
thing only awakened deeper anxiety ; until at length 
his course seemed to be clearly pronounced, when he 
granted a general amnesty to all political offenders. 
Rome stood thunder-struck at this bold movement. 
The prisons, with their six thousand annually incar- 
cerated victims, threw open their doors. Exiles in 
every part of the world were permitted to return. 
Almost every family in Rome had some connection, 
or friend, or acquaintance, either a prisoner or exile ; 
and hence the sudden joy which followed. The city 
was moved to its centre ; and lo ! the crowd went 
rushing with shouts to the Capitoline Hill, and stream- 
ed dark masses into the arena of the Coliseum, with 
torches and songs ; — and the shouts from the Capitol, 
and the shouts from the Coliseum, met over the old 
Roman Forum, startling the night-bird from his re- 
treat amid the ruins of Caesar's golden palace, while 
the ivy on the ruins around them rustled to the breath 
of joy. At three o'clock in the morning, this vast 
throng stood under the balcony of the Pope's palace, 
and made its massive walls ring with " Long live Pius 



POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY. 295 

IX. !'* The Pope rose and looked on the sea of heads 
beneath him, and away on Rome, blazing with illumi- 
nations ; and as the deafening shouts died away, he 
stretched forth his hands, and, with tears streaming 
from his eyes, blessed the people, who received it 
with tears and blessings in return. The next day, as 
he was returning home in his carriage, the people 
blocked the passage, and detaching the horses, them- 
selyes drew him home, with acclamations of joy. 
Various reforms followed this : he lessened the taxes ; 
reformed many abuses ; opened the library of the 
Vatican ; disbanded the police of the last Pope ; de- 
clared that no man should be persecuted for his politi- 
cal opinions ; abolished many of the secret tribunals ; 
modified the criminal code ; set on foot measures to 
instruct the lower classes in the different provinces ; 
allowed philanthi'opic societies to be established ; and 
gave individual enterprise more scope. He re- 
moved also the rigorous censorship of the press, and 
immediately a host of papers were started in Rome, 
some scientific and some political. It is not to be 
supposed that Austria would behold all this with in- 
difference, or that her emissaries or bigoted and 
despotic cardinals and priests would submit in silence 
to such great changes. Remonstrance after remon- 
strance was made — threats mingled with petitions 
flooded the papal palace ; but still the resolute Pon- 
tiff held his way. Once only he faltered, and that 
was in restoring the severe ceusorship of the press, 
w^hich he the next day, at the remonstrance of four 



296 RAMBL'ES AND SKETCHES. 

hundred printers assembled before his palace, again 
removed. 

On one holiday, the Austrian ambassador, wishing 
to disturb the harmony existing between the PontiflF 
and his subjects, sent word to the former that it 
would not be safe for him to appear in public, as the 
people were exasperated against him. The Pope 
immediately sent messengers to ascertain whether it 
were so, and finding it to be false, boldly sallied forth 
on foot, and mingled in the crowd. The people 
appreciated his confidence in them, and made the 
heavens ring with their acclamations, and shouts of 
" Courage ! courage ! Pius IX. Fear not Austria — 
trust to your people !" 

Soon after, conspiracies were set on foot to assas- 
sinate the Pope, which proved abortive. In July, 
on the day set apart to celebrate the amnesty, a gen- 
eral massacre of the friends of reform was to take 
place, and the person of the Pope to be seized and 
conveyed to Naples. In the midst of the general joy, 
the armed conspirators were, at a given signal, to 
draw their daggers and rush on the liberals. This in- 
fernal scheme, which embraced cardinals and priests, 
was fortunately discovered in time ; and a national 
guard was established, in which all were eager to en- 
roll themselves. Formerly, the papal army numbered 
but 14,000 men, while the navy consisted of two 
frigates, two war-steamers, and a few gun-boats : now 
the PontiflF has a large force at his disposal ; at his 
bidding an army of 60,000 men have sprung into 
existence. In the mean time, the Austrian army 



POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY. 297 

entered Ferrara, one of the papal provinces, and 
looked threateningly towards Rome. The Pope re- 
monstrates against this, and the people are fierce for 
open hostilities. Thus matters stand, while plans for 
the improvement of the people are daily progressing. 
Railroads are in contemplation, and the avenues of 
trade and commerce thrown open. 

Now in all this, it would be unfair to say that the 
Pope has been actuated alone by motives of policy. 
He is, doubtless, a more liberal and a better man than 
his predecessor. He himself had a brother an exile ; 
and as a missionary, formerly to Chili, and afterwards 
to Buenos Ayres, he has learned, like Louis Philippe, 
to regard the rights of the people, and respect their 
feelings and their wants. 

Still, policy has had much to do with the course he 
has taken. His travels in the New World opened his 
eyes to truths that it became him to recognize ; and 
he saw plainly, that the Pontiff of 1847 could not be 
the despot that a former age tolerated. But amid 
the general excitement with which the- unexpected 
liberality of Pius IX. is hailed, we must not lose 
sight of the actual state of things. The Pope has 
done much ; but, with all his reforms, his government 
is still a despotic one. A criminal code is there in 
force, and municipal and provincial laws, and a cen- 
sorship of the press, and an exercise of arbitrary 
power, which, if applied even to the monarchy of 
England, would cause a revolution that all the stand- 
ing armies of the world could not arrest. To read 
some of the papers of this country, and listen to some 



298 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

of the public speeclies, one would imagine that Pius 
IX. wished of all things to establish a republican form 
of government, and lacked only the ability ; while in 
truth, I suppose there is not a government on the 
earth for which he has such a supreme and hearty 
contempt as for this same republic of the United 
States. He, as well as every other monarch of Eu- 
rope, except Louis Philippe, is in absolute ignorance 
of this country and its resources. As a Catholic said 
in New York the other day, he regards this country 
simply as missionary ground. South America ranks 
far higher in his estimation than the United States ; 
and I can affirm, from personal experience, that this 
is almost the universal opinion of Italy. When Ame- 
rica is mentioned, the Italians always think South 
America is intended. So true is this, that nine- 
tenths of all the emigration from Italy — and it is ex- 
tensive — is to South America ; and all her commerce 
is also with that country. There are but few papers 
in Italy, and those never speak of us but to disparage 
us; while our literature is entirely shut out, on 
account of its republican tendency. Independent of 
all this, the sovereigns and statesmen of Europe, to 
a man, regard a republican form of government as 
the most uncertain, unstable that could be devised. 
They look upon our experiment as already proved a 
failure, and consider it settled that we shall soon 
break to pieces. Nor is this strange, when we re- 
.member that the majority of our own ablest states- 
men believe that this Union will not remain entire 
forty years to come. Much less should they, educa- 



POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY. 299 

ted to believe in a monarchical form of government, 
and judging of the mass of men every ^here by the 
ignorant, depraved, and lawless multitudes that com- 
pose their own population, have any confidence in the 
permanence and stability of our institutions. The 
sovereignty of the people is to them the Eeign of 
Terror of the French Revolution. I make this state- 
ment simply to say, that we should guard against 
enacting follies, that will only bring down on us con- 
tempt and ridicule. 

A short time since, a public meeting was called in 
New York, to express sympathy for the Italians. 
This was right and proper; but not content with 
manly resolutions, an address was read to the Pope, 
and voted to be sent to His Holiness ; and it has gone, 
printed on elegant parchment. This address, written 
by the Editor of the Tribune, was well-meant but 
most ill-advised. Ignorant of European governments 
— of the policy of European statesmen — of Jtaly — 
he was not the man to draw up such a letter. That 
ridiculous epistle addresses the Pope in a tone of 
patronizing sympathy, taking the ground that he 
wishes to establish 'a constitutional government; and 
calls on him to look upon us for a bright example to 
cheer him on. It bids him not fear the despots 
around him, for we sympathize with him. In the 
first place, the Pope wiU regard this movement in 
New York as we should a mass-meeting in the Sand- 
wich Islands, voting us a complimentary letter. He 
will answer it kindly, patronizingly, and cautiously. 
Such an address is wrong, whichever way you take 



800 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

it. If the Pope really meditated the establishment 
of a constitutional government, nothing would embar- 
rass him more than such an epistle, and nothing tend 
more to defeat his purpose ; for the very statesmen 
who now uphold him in his reforms would desert him, 
and not a government could be found in E.urope but 
would be arrayed against him. If he has no such 
scheme or wish, but regards all such notions as " Uto- 
pian" and senseless, we shall appear simply ridicu- 
lous in his eyes. It will be mortifying to the Ameri- 
can traveler hereafter, to have that address flung in 
liis face on the continent. The distinguished gentle- 
men who composed this meeting were not to blame, 
for they could not reject it without occasioning dis- 
cord. Delicacy and fear of trouble prompted them 
to let it pass ; but ignorance and vanity should never 
be allowed to hold us up to ridicule. The manner in 
which that letter will be received, may be gathered 
from the following extracts of the Pope's recent 
spe-ech to his new Council of State, compared with 
parts of it. That address says : " We know that you 
must have already resolved to encounter the untiring 
hostility and dread of all the unjust or tyrannical 
rulers, who assume to lord it over any portion of the 
fair Italian Peninsula.'' This will be news to the 
Pope, who has already struck hands with the King 
of Sardinia, one of the most unmitigated despots of 
Europe. And again: " Short as our national life has 
been, it has already demonstrated to every thought- 
ful man, the immense superiority of liberty to despot- 
ism,'' &c. 



POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY. 301 

The Pope regards it as having demonstrated right 
the reverse. In his address to his new Council, re- 
ferring to just such sentiments as these, he says he 
means to act for the good of his subjects, but " with-- 
out retrenching in any degree the sovereignty of the 
pontificate ;'' and he says further, that he has called 
that Council of State solely to aid him in " his sove- 
reign resolutions, in which he shall consult his con- 
science,'' That is, I want you to understand that I 
am absolute sovereign here, and intend to reign as 
such. My will is to be law ; and all I wish of you is 
to aid me in carrying out that will. That sovereignty, 
he expressly states, they are not to meddle with ; as 
he intends (to use his own language) to transmit it 
'^fuU and entire'' as he received. And still further 
on he says, they '^ err materially who should see any 
thing else in the creation of the Council of State ;" or 
dream, as he emphatically remarks, that it was de- 
signed to be " the realization of their own Utopias.'^ 
He takes fire at the mere insinuation that he means 
to give the people power, or weaken in any way the 
absolute sovereignty he wields. He does not object 
to despotisms, but he does not wish to have his own 
interfered with. The Pontiff of Rome is to be as 
supreme as the Emperor of Austria ; and he wishes 
all to understand that he has no intention of weaken- 
ing that supremacy, but, as a conscientious despot, 
not to abuse it. He designs to rule well^ but yet to 
rule alone. This is his decision, expressed before all 
the world; and now, how will our congratulations, 
that he is endeavoring to give Italy a liberal and 

26 



802 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

constitutional government, be received? I venture 
to say that, when that address is received by the 
Pope and his Council, it will be regarded as the mad- 
dest, craziest thing that ever met their eyes. I have 
thus spoken of this address, because it gives one a 
better idea of the movements and plans of the Pope 
than any thing else. A comparison of our opinions 
with his is sure to set us right, and give us a clearer 
insight into the principles and spirit of the pontifical 
government than a dry and detailed account of all 
the departments and their branches, with their sepa- 
rate relations and powers. 

The Pope regards such schemes as we have been 
entertaining as Utopian, and promises only to use the 
power with which he is invested conscientiously, not 
to surrender a fraction of it. Do not consider me 
as speaking this to his discredit. How can he be 
otherwise than an absolute monarchist ? His educa- 
tion has all been to make him one ; and so has been 
his experience in the ever shifting, distracted republics 
of South America. As well might you expect an 
American, educated a republican, and acquainted 
only with despotism in its worsts forms, to be a des- 
pot, as him to be a republican. And more than this, 
with my knowledge of Italian society, and the policy 
of European governments, I am free to say, that an 
attempt at once to establish a republic in Rome, 
would be the height of madness. The people are not 
fit for it, any more than the people of Mexico or 
South America. Who does not believe that a mo- 
narchy would have been better for these chaotic 



POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY. 303 

States than tlie endless civil wars and military rule 
under which they have suffered. 

But suppose the people intelligent and virtuouSj 
would a republic be tolerated? Not for an hour. 
No great repubhc will ever rise in the heart of Europe 
without rising out of a sea of blood, and being ce- 
mented by the blood of its haughty sovereigns. Look 
at France : the moment the head of Louis XVI. 
rolled on the scaffold, all Europe rose like one man, 
and moved down on the bewildered republic to crush 
it. What ! kings be decapitated, and republics rise 
on their shattered thrones ? No ; self-defence com- 
pelled them to direct their united strength upon it, 
and to arrest the experiment in its commencement. 
Even France, one of the most powerful of the Eu- 
ropean States, could not stand, though she had one 
of the greatest leaders that ever entered a battle- 
field, to head her armies : she fell at last, overpow- 
ered by numbers ; and the allied powers put a king 
of their own choosing on the throne. Poland fell, 
though for a while victorious. Under the shadow of 
their capital, within sight of its towers and walls, 
crowded with their mothers, wives, and children, her 
sons strove with almost superhuman might, to main- 
tain their freedom, and rolled back the Russian thou- 
sands over their borders. Yet, under European diplo- 
macy and European villany she sunk at last; and 
her patriotic sons crowd the mines of Siberia. 

Switzerland has just made an effort to be free ; and 
already the plenipotentiaries of Central Europe are 
hastening to the victorious army, to bid it pause in 



304 KAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

its career, or the tread of French, and Prussian, and 
Austrian legions will be heard on her soil. The whole 
policy of Europe is to keep out the leaven of republi- 
canism, — it is their great danger. The French Revo- 
lution came well-nigh upsetting every throne : another 
such a whirlwind would scatter their crowns so that 
they could not be gathered up again. In view of the 
case, what prospect would there be of succeeding, 
should the Pope attempt to establish a republican 
form of government ? None. But take another view 
of it. Independent of the rest of Europe, what is 
there in Italy to give hope of success ? Great and 
enthusiastic hopes are expressed that the day of Italy's 
regeneration is at hand. This I deem a great mis- 
take, resulting from ignorance of the condition of the 
country. Suppose the Pope wished it, and the Eu- 
ropean powers would permit it, and a republic should 
be established in Rome, how would that affect the 
rest of Italy ? It must be remembered that the Pa- 
pal States compose only a portion of the Peninsula ; 
and over the remaining portion the Pope has no more 
power than the President of the United States. Take 
first the southern portion, including the Kingdom of 
Naples and the Two Sicilies. There have been re- 
cent outbreaks, and symptoms of a revolution: so 
there always have been, and we have seen the attempt 
for a while successful; but the kingdom fell back 
again to its former state. Should that now succeed, 
the Pope would not dare assume the control. He has 
no more right to it or authority over it than he has 
over Ireland. And whatever he might be allowed to 



POPE PIUS IX. AlsD ITALY. ' 805 

do with Ills own kingdom, tie would not be permitted 
to touch it. France, Austria, and England would each 
like to possess that portion of Italy ; but those who 
maintain the balance of power on the continent would 
immediately interfere. Russia looks with a covetous 
eye on Turkey ; but the moment she reaches out her 
hand, the growl of the English lion compels her to 
withdraw it, and, strong as she is, she dare not carry 
out her wishes. And let the Pope undertake to con- 
trol any portion of Italy, and his crown would not be 
worth the picking up. There are demonstrations of 
the people in various parts of Italy, and the name of 
the Pope is the watchword ; but not because they ex- 
pect to unite under him — it is the rallying cry in their 
own behalf. The duchies of Servia and Modena are 
mere counties, and not worth taking into the account. 
Tuscany, the most liberal of the Italian States, main- 
tains, as much as she can, a neutrality ; for the Aus- 
trian columns are too near her borders. The north- 
western portion, including Milan and Venice, are 
directly under Austrian rule ; and that rule will be 
maintained at whatever cost. She would allow the 
Pope to invade her capital as soon as exercise the 
least power over that part of her dominions. There 
is only one kingdom left, that of Sardinia, including 
Piedmont and Genoa. This is the most powerful 
State of Italy. The king has a standing army of 
eighty thousand men, and he, doubtless, on the 
shortest notice, could bring one hundred and fifty 
thousand troops into the field; a powerful force, if 
thrown on the side of the Pope. Great hopes are 

26* 



806 BAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

entertained of him ; for lie has declared his sympathy 
mth the Pontiff, and offered his aid. He has also in- 
troduced some reforms into his own kingdom; and 
■vvhen Sardinia shall reach her hand across the Pen- 
insula, and clasp that of the Pontiff in sacred union, 
th€ resistance offered to Austria will be formidable. 

But who is this Carlo Alberto — King Charles Al- 
ber — who has threatened to meet Austria in the 
field, if she attempts to occupy Ferrara, and has 
offered his services to Pope Pius IX. ? The veriest 
despot, traitor, and hypocrite that ever escaped the 
punishment due his crimes. He himself was once at 
the head of one of the most formidable conspiracies 
ever set on foot for the redemption of Italy. Chief 
of the Carbonari, he promised constitutional freedom 
to Italy. That conspiracy counted some of the 
noblest spirits of the age. But just on the eve of its 
development, death removed the obstructions between 
Charles Albert and the throne of Piedmont; and 
vaulting into it, he immediately seized the conspira- 
tors he himself had seduced into his ambitious plains, 
and, by imprisonment, banishment, and death, rid 
himself of his old friends, and became the most hated 
tyrant in Europe. Added to all this, he is a Jesuit 
of the Jesuits, and as weak as he is villanous. When 
I was in Genoa he visited the city ; but, as he passed 
through the streets, none but the lower classes ap- 
peared to do him honor ; and as he walked from his 
palace past the university, the students in the porch 
never took off their hats, but turned their backs 
upon him. He has proved himself one of the darkest 



POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY. 807 

traitors, both to friendship and liberty, that ever dis- 
graced humanity ; and who would trust him again ? 
He upholds the Pope, offers his aid, and talks loudly 
of the independence and nationality of Italy. Ah ! 
" Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.'' I fear such a man 
when he brings, and though he brings gifts in Ms 
hands. But it may be asked, what motive has he for 
the course he adopts? Three very powerful ones. 
In the first place, he is hated intensely by his own 
subjects ; and he knows it, and fears their anger. 
This dislike he can remove in no way so effectually 
as by upholding the Pope ; and already has he found 
his reward ; for, on his last visit to Genoa, the inha- 
bitants flocked by thousands along the road, to cheer 
him. In the second place, Austria is the only power 
he has to fear; she trenches on his borders, and 
holds him in perpetual alarm ; and he will wilKngly 
seize any event that would injure his enemy, and 
compel him to evacuate Italy. In the third place, 
in case of any successful hostilities, he could not but 
enlarge his territory. If, through his instrumentality, 
Austria should be spoiled of her possessions in Italy, 
he knows he could dictate his own terms to the Pope ; 
and rest assured he would be content with nothing 
less than half of the Peninsula. He is the most pow- 
erful sovereign in it, and he looks with a covetous eye 
on those fair portions which the Austrians hold. 

But as for wishing the liberty of Italy, or caring 
any thing about its independence and nationality, 
except so far as that nationality consists in being un- 
der one despotic sovereign, and he that sovereign, he 



308 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

is innocent. Will a man that has been guilty of the 
darkest crimes that stain our nature, in order to get 
a throne, advance measures to overturn it ? No, no ! 
He is a hypocrite and traitor still, and the people of 
It-aly will yet find it so, to their cost. But there is 
one other course left — the universal rising of the 
people, through the length and breadth of the land, 
and the establishment of a popular government. But 
can the people withstand their own sovereigns, backed 
by the powers of Europe ? Every attempt has thus 
far been a failure. Even if they could, the jealousies 
prevailing between the different provinces and king- 
doms are too strong to permit such a union. There 
are no elements of union in Italy — the whole theory 
is preposterous. But is there no hope for the regene- 
ration of Italy, in the present movement? None, 
that I can see. I discern in the conduct of the Pope 
only a desire to rule his people well, and not tolerate 
any innovation on his power — indeed, no wish to 
abridge it. It is sad to say so ; it is sad to see the 
Italian people, who have suffered so long and heavily, 
expressing the warmest gratitude and love towards 
their rulers, when they exhibit the least care for 
them, and yet say that that gratitude is thrown away, 
that joy premature, and those hopes groundless. 
How despots can withstand such confidence and of- 
fered love, seems strange to us, but so it is. They 
know from the past, that power, once passed over 
into the hands of the people, can never be recalled. 
I have said of Italy what I believe to be true. If 
any one supposes that my incredulity has grown out 



POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY. 309 

of a want of sympathy, he is much mistaken. My heart 
bleeds for that country, and no one would delight to 
find me wrong more than myself. But could I con- 
vey to others those views which it is impossible to 
obtain without a residence in Europe, with this very 
question constantly before their minds, and made a 
serious study, they would find the reasons I have 
given have not begun to express the difficulties that 
lie in the way of the extravagant hopes that are en- 
tertained by so many. There are noble spirits in 
Italy, that would cheerfully die for their country. 
Many a proud noble in Genoa would send up the 
shout of freedom, even though it brought the walls of 
his palace about his ears, could he rouse sticcessful re- 
sistance by it. 

Still it may be asked, if I suppose oppression is 
always to exist. No ; it will yet come to an end in 
Italy, but only as it comes to an end in Europe. 
Then it will be the result^ rather than a cause — the 
product of convulsions and revolutions in more pow- 
erful States. If there be one thing fixed in destiny, 
it is the steady, resistless progress of the republican 
principle. Struggle as despots may — surround 
themselves as they will with all the checks and re- 
straints on popular feeling — bind and torture, and 
exile and slay, the terrible day of reckoning is slowly 
advancing. Before this single principle, Europe is 
incessantly pushed forward to the brink of a frightful 
gulf. On that brink despotism will make its last 
stand, and final struggle. The statesmen of Europe 
Bee it and know it, and hope only to defer the day 



310 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

of. evil. Come they know it will: as Guizot lately 
said in the Chamber of Deputies, All Grermany is on 
fire. I might, if I had time, prove this, to the full 
conviction of every mind ; but I will only point to Eu- 
rope now and Europe sixty years ago, as fearful 
corroboration of what I say. Europe is yet to be 
set afloat on the turbulent sea of democracy. The 
French Revolution is but one act in the great tra- 
gedy yet to be enacted. That, with Bonaparte at its 
head, whelmed the continent in blood, and made the 
knees of every monarch smite together, like Belshaz- 
zar's of old. The next shall open under their very 
thrones, as the French Revolution did under the 
throne of the Bourbons. The people are yet to have 
the power, and woe then to those who have maddened 
them. It needs not the ear of prophecy, it re- 
quires only the ear of reason, to hear the sound of 
falling thrones in the future. Fugitive kings are to 
flit through the realms they have ruined. Now, bar- 
rier after barrier is erected, check after check applied, 
promise after promise made and broken, to arrest 
the waves of popular feeling ; yet they keep swell- 
ing higher and higher. Soon the last barrier shall 
be raised, the last check exhausted, and then the 
increasing flood will burst over. What is to come 
of it, I cannot tell. Through the blackness of that 
approaching storm no eye but God's can pierce. 
Whether anarchy or constitutional liberty is to spring 
out of it. He only knows ; but the experiment of self- 
government the people of Europe are yet to try. No 
power can prevent it. Around the ruins of Italy, 



POPE PIUS IX. AND ITALY. 811 

and the feudal castles of England and Germany, 
amid the forests of Russia, the struggle of the peo- 
ple with their rulers is to take place. Every man 
who will sit down to the study of modern history, 
with this single fact before him, will turn pale at the 
conclusion he cannot escape. We may not live to 
see that struggle, but it is the ghost that haunts at 
this moment the slumbers of every continental mon- 
arch. The scaffold of Charles I., and the guillotine 
of Louis XVI., are ever present to their imaginations, 
and make cowards of them all. 

In this great movement, Italy will doubtless par- 
ticipate, and the conduct of the present Pope is only 
another impulse to it. He is doing more than he 
dreams of — taking steps that can never be retraced ; 
and do now what he will, he cannot, as he says, 
transmit the pontifical sovereignty full and complete 
as he received it. His successor must go onward or 
downward. 

There is one thought, however, worthy of consid- 
eration. Italy, old as she is, has wild land. One- 
third of her surface, through the slight encourage- 
ment given to industry, is uncultivated and waste. 
All along the coast of the Mediterranean, in Asia 
Minor and Egypt, where once a mighty population 
was supported, land now lies neglected and idle. 
Could a free government be established there, with 
all the privileges enjoyed in this country, the tide of 
emigration would set eastward instead of westzvard. 
There is the centre of commerce and trade; and it 
requires only permission to line the Mediterranean 



812 KAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 

with wharves, and cover its sunny shore with thrifty 
farms, and the stirring sound of commerce. It needs 
no well-devised plans, and great outlays of nations — 
it needs only liberty , to fill the Mediterranean with 
emigrants who will reclaim the desert, and rebuild 
the cities of that once glorious land. 



THE END« 



